A Man That's Fond Precociously Of Stirring

Such A Blush In The Midst Of Brown Was Born, Like Red Poppies Grown With Corn.

He Lies Like A Hedgehog Rolled Up The Wrong Way, Tormenting Himself With His Prickles.

Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold! Bright And Yellow, Hard And Cold!

While The Steeples Are Loud In Their Joy, To The Tune Of The Bells' Ring-a-ding, Let Us Chime In A Peal, One And All, For We All Should Be Able To Sing Hullah Baloo.

But Evil Is Wrought By Want Of Thought, As Well As Want Of Heart!