OH, but life went gaily, gaily, <br />In the house of Idiedaily! <br />There were always throats to sing <br />Down the river-banks with spring, <br />When the stir of heart's desire <br />Set the sapling's heart on fire. <br />Bobolincolns in the meadows, <br />Leisure in the purple shadows, <br />Till the poppies without number <br />Bowed their heads in crimson slumber, <br />And the twilight came to cover <br />Every unreluctant lover. <br />Not a night but some brown maiden <br />Bettered all the dusk she strayed in, <br />While the roses in her hair <br />Bankrupted oblivion there. <br />Oh, but life went gaily, gaily, <br />In the house of Idiedaily! <br />But this hostelry, The Barrow, <br />With its chambers, bare and narrow, <br />Mean, ill-windowed, damp, and wormy, <br />Where the silence makes you squirmy, <br />And the guests are never seen to, <br />Is a vile place, a mere lean-to, <br />Not a traveller speaks well of, <br />Even worse than I heard tell of, <br />Mouldy, ramshackle, and foul— <br />What a dwelling for a soul! <br />Oh, but life went gaily, gaily, <br />In the house of ldiedaily! <br />There the hearth was always warm <br />From the slander of the storm. <br />There your comrade was your neighbour, <br />Living on to-morrow's labour. <br />And the board was always steaming, <br />Though Sir Ringlets might be dreaming. <br />Not a plate but scoffed at porridge, <br />Not a cup but floated borage. <br />There were always jugs of sherry <br />Waiting for the makers merry, <br />And the dark Burgundian wine <br />That would make a fool divine. <br />Oh, but life went gaily, gaily, <br />In the house of Idiedaily!<br /><br />Bliss William Carman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-the-house-of-idiedaily/
