Из полного собрания бессмыслиц

The Owl looked up to the stars above,

And sang to a small guitar,

“O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,

What a beautiful Pussy you are,

You are,

You are!

What a beautiful Pussy you are!”

II

Pussy said to the Owl, “You elegant fowl!

How charmingly sweet you sing!

O let us be married! too long we have tarried:

But what shall we do for a ring?”

Thwy sailed away, for a year and a day,

To the land where the Bong-tree grows

And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood

With a ring at the end of his nose,

His nose,

His nose,

With a ring at the end of his nose.

III

“Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one

shilling

Your ring?” Said the Piggy, “I will.”

So they took it away, and were married

next day

By the Turkey who lives on the hill.

They dined on mince, and slices of quince,

Which they ate with a runcible spoon;

And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,

They danced by the light of the moon,

The moon,

The moon,

They danced by the light of the moon.

The Children of the Owl and the Pussy-cat

Our mother was the Pussy-cat,

Our father was the Owl,

And so we’re partly little beasts

And partly little fowl,

The brothers of our family

Have feathers and they hoot,

While all the sisters dress in fur

And have long tails to boot.

We all believe that little mice,

For food are singularly nice.

Our mother died long years ago.

She was a lovely cat

Her tail was 5 feet long, and grey

With stripes, but what of that?

In Sila forest on the East

Of far Calabria’s shore

She tumbled from a lofty tree —

None ever saw her more.

Our owly father long was ill

From sorrow and surprise,

But with the feathers of his tail

He wiped his weeping eyes.

And in the hollow of a tree

In Sila’s inmost maze

We made a happy home and there

We pass our obvious days.

From Reggian Cosenza

Many owls about us flit

And bring us worldly news

For which we do not care a bit.

We watch the sun each morning rise,

Beyond Tarento’s strait;

We go out pleasure seeking,

Before it gets too late;

And when the evening shades begin

To lengthen from the trees

Yoy’ll find us merrily dancing

As sure as bees is bees.