Читать книгу Come Hither: A Collection of Rhymes and Poems for the Young of All Ages - Various - Страница 111

I and my white Pangur

Have each his special art:

His mind is set on hunting mice,

Mine is upon my special craft.

I love to rest—better than any fame!—

With close study at my little book;

White Pangur does not envy me:

He loves his childish play.

When in our house we two are all alone—

A tale without tedium!

We have—sport never-ending!

Something to exercise our wit.

At times by feats of derring-do

A mouse sticks in his net,

While into my net there drops

A difficult problem of hard meaning.

He points his full shining eye

Against the fence of the wall:

I point my clear though feeble eye

Against the keenness of science.

He rejoices with quick leaps

When in his sharp claw sticks a mouse:

I too rejoice when I have grasped

A problem difficult and dearly loved.

Though we are thus at all times,

Neither hinders the other,

Each of us pleased with his own art

Amuses himself alone.

He is a master of the work

Which every day he does:

While I am at my own work

To bring difficulty to clearness.

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