Page:The Glugs of Gosh (C. J. Dennis, 1917).djvu/55



OW, Sym was a Glug; and 'tis mentioned so That the tale reads perfectly plain as we go. In his veins ran blood of that stupid race Of docile folk, who inhabit the place Called Gosh, sad Gosh, where the tall trees sigh With a strange, significant sort of cry When the gloaming creeps and the wind is high.

When the deep shades creep and the wind is high The trees bow low as the gods ride by: Gods of the gloaming, who ride on the breeze, Stooping to hearten the birds and the trees. But each dull Glug sits down by his door, And mutters, "'Tis windy!" and nothing more, Like the long-dead Glugs in the days of yore.

When Sym was born there was much to-do, And his parents thought him a joy to view; But folk not prejudiced saw the Glug, As his nurse remarked, "In the cut of his mug." For he had their hair, and he had their eyes, And the Glug expression of pained surprise, And their predilection for pumpkin pies.