Tweedle-tweet-e-tweedle-tweet
Comes the call across the years;
Gently stealing clear and sweet,
Bringing smiles or tears.
Willows swaying in the wind,
Mossy banks of stream below,
Children, chicks and kindred kin
Gather round to see the show.
Gray of hair but young of heart,
Youth still singing in your soul,
Master of an ancient art—
Liquid notes around you roll.
Orpheus playing to the beasts,
Music-maker to the stones,
Faunus at the Roman feasts;
Syrinx-like are all your tones.
Breeze and birds join in your song,
Feet of young things round you race,
Pan still leads the way along
As he did in Golden Thrace.
Barks for whistles you know well,
Learned them in Olympian woods
E'er the gods by mortals fell
You were fashioning your goods.
"Whistles, for one baby's kiss;
(With much haggling on the trade)
Bargains now you must not miss
Step up, do not be afraid!"
You have cheated from the start.
You have played an unfair game,
Sold the whistle, stole the heart,
Robbers always are the same.
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