The Deer-Mice

A beautiful deer-mouse lived in the rye,
     Fawn-colored and velvet-furred his skin;
And his tail was long enough to tie
     In a dandy bow-knot under his chin;
He did not wear it so, it is true,
But carried it just as other mice do!

He rented a rye-rick for his house,
     After the reapers had cut the grain,
And he lodged with his lady mouse
     And four pink babies, out of the rain;
His rent was never paid up, it’s true,—
He just forgot it, as other mice do.

Then came the farmer and raised that rick
     And tumbled it, sheaf by sheaf, in his cart,
And Bose, the dog, was eager and quick
     When he saw the beautiful deer-mice start;
They would make him a slender meal he knew,
If they went the way some other mice do.

But Bose, good Bose, I am pleased to say
     You must dine to-day on the master’s beef; 
The pretty deer-mice went not the way
     You opened for them; but snug in a sheaf
They rode, well-stowed, and took lodgings new
In the farmer’s barn, as other mice do.