Here we go in a flung festoon
Half-way up to the jealous moon
Don’t you envy our pranceful bands
Don’t you wish you had extra hands
Wouldn’t you like if your tails were—so
Curved in the shape of a Cupid’s bow
Now you’re angry, but—never mind
Brother, thy tail hangs down behind
Here we sit in a branchy row
Thinking of beautiful things we know
Dreaming of deeds that we mean to do
All complete, in a minute or two
Something noble and wise and good
Done by merely wishing we could.
We’ve forgotten, but—never mind
Brother, thy tail hangs down behind
All the talk we ever have heard
Uttered by bat or beast or bird
Hide or fin or scale or feather
Jabber it quickly and all together
Excellent! Wonderful! Once again
Now we are talking just like men
Let’s pretend we are ... never mind
Brother, thy tail hangs down behind
This is the way of the Monkey-kind.
Then join our leaping lines that scumfish through the pines
That rocket by where, light and high, the wild grape swings.
By the rubbish in our wake, and the noble noise we make
Be sure, be sure, we’re going to do some splendid things
