The Mouse That Gnawed The Oak-Tree Down

The mouse that gnawed the oak-tree down Began his task in early life. He kept so busy with his teeth He had no time to take a wife. He gnawed and gnawed through sun and rain When the ambitious fit was on, Then rested in the sawdust till A month of idleness had gone. He did not move about to hunt The coteries of mousie-men. He was a snail-paced, stupid thing Until he cared to gnaw again. The mouse that gnawed the oak-tree down, When that tough foe was at his feet— Found in the stump no angel-cake Nor buttered bread, nor cheese, nor meat— The forest-roof let in the sky. “This light is worth the work,” said he. “I’ll make this ancient swamp more light,” And started on another tree.