 | Jane and Ann Taylor: Original Poems for Infant Minds |  |
THE SNAIL.
The snail, how he creeps slowly over the wall,
He seems scarce to make any progress at all,
Almost where you leave him you find him;
His long shining body he stretches out well,
And drags along with him his round hollow shell,
And leaves a bright pathway behind him.
He seems scarce to make any progress at all,
Almost where you leave him you find him;
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And drags along with him his round hollow shell,
And leaves a bright pathway behind him.
“Look, father,” said John, “at the lazy old snail,
He's almost an hour crawling over the pail,
Enough all one's patience to worry;
Now, if I were he, I would gallop away,
Half over the world—twenty miles in a day,
And turn business off in a hurry.”
He's almost an hour crawling over the pail,
Enough all one's patience to worry;
Now, if I were he, I would gallop away,
Half over the world—twenty miles in a day,
And turn business off in a hurry.”
“Why, John,” said his father, “that's all very well;
For though you can never inhabit a shell,
But e'en must remain a young master,
Yet these thoughts of yours may something avail;
Take a hint for yourself from your jokes on the snail,
And do your own work rather faster.”
For though you can never inhabit a shell,
But e'en must remain a young master,
Yet these thoughts of yours may something avail;
Take a hint for yourself from your jokes on the snail,
And do your own work rather faster.”
| Jane and Ann Taylor: Original Poems for Infant Minds | |