The Bookworm
‘I’m tired - Oh, tired of books,’ said Jack,
‘I long for meadows green,
And woods, where shadowy violets
Nod their cool leaves between;
I long to see the ploughman stride
His darkening acres o’er,
To hear the hoarse sea-waters drive
Their billows ’gainst the shore;
I long to watch the sea-mew wheel
Back to her rock-perched mate;
Or, where the breathing cows are housed,
Lean dreaming o’er the gate.
Something has gone, and ink and print
Will never bring it back;
I long for the green fields again,
I’m tired of books,’ said Jack.