THE BOOKWORM

‘ I'm tired - Oh, tired of books,’ said Jack,

‘ I long for meadows green,

And woods, where shadowy violets

Nod their cool leaves between;

I long to see the ploughman stride

His darkening acres o'er,

To hear the hoarse sea-waters drive

Their billows‘ gainst the shore;

I long to watch the sea-mew wheel

Back to her rock-perched mate;

Or, where the breathing cows are housed,

Lean dreaming o'er the gate.

Something has gone, and ink and print

Will never bring it back;

I long for the green fields again,

I'm tired of books,’ said Jack.