O What A Flowery Track Lies Spread

"glorious, Stirring Sight!" Murmured Toad. . . . "the Poetry Of Motion! The Real Way To Travel! The Only Way To Travel! Here Today - In Next Week Tomorrow! Villages Skipped, Towns And Cities Jumped- Always Somebody Else's Horizons! O Bliss! O Poop-poop! O My! O My!"

There Was The Noise Of A Bolt Shot Back, And The Door Opened A Few Inches, Enough To Show A Long Snout And A Pair Of Sleepy Blinking Eyes.

Weasels--and Stoats--and Foxes--and So On. They're All Right In A Way--i'm Very Good Friends With Them--pass The Time Of Day When We Meet, And All That--but They Break Out Sometimes, There's No Denying It, And Then--well, You Can't Really Trust Them, And That's The Fact.

The Clever Men Of Oxford, Know All That There Is To Be Knowed But They None Of Them Know One Half As Much As Intelligent Mr. Toad.

An Errant May-fly Swerved Unsteadily Athwart The Current In The Intoxicated Fashion Affected By Young Bloods Of May-flies Seeing Life. A Swirl Of Water And A 'cloop!' And The May-fly Was Visible No More