GOT AROUND THE TABLE AND BEGAN TO WORK
Mr. Rabbit wasn't very long at his piece, and pretty soon he jumped up and said he was through, and Mr. 'Possum said that if that was so, he might go down and bring up some wood and warm up the brains of the rest of them. So Mr. Rabbit stirred up the fire, and sat down and looked into it, and read over his poem to himself and changed a word here and there, and thought how nice it was; and by-and-by Mr. Dog said he was through, and Mr. Robin said he was through, too.
Then Mr. Rabbit said he thought that would be more than enough for one evening anyway, and that the others might finish their pieces to-morrow and have them ready for the next evening.
So then they all gathered around the fire again, and everybody said that as Mr. Rabbit had thought of the club first, he must be the first to read his piece.
Mr. Rabbit said he was sure it would be more modest for some one else to read first, but that he was willing to start things going if they wanted him to. Then he stood up, and turned a little to the light, and took a nice position, and read his poem, which was called
SNOWED IN
By J. Rabbit
Oh, the snow lies white in the woods to-night—
The snow lies soft and deep;
And under the snow, I know, oh, ho!
The flowers of the summer sleep.
The flowers of the summer sleep, I know,
Snowed in like you and me—
Under the sheltering leaves, oh, ho,
As snug and as warm as we—
As snug and as warm from the winter storm
As we of the Hollow Tree.
Snowed in are we in the Hollow Tree,
And as snug and as warm as they we be—
Snowed in, snowed in,
Are we, are we,
And as snug as can be in the Hollow Tree,
The wonderful Hollow Tree.
Oh, the snow lies cold on wood and wold,
But never a bit comes in,
As we smoke and eat, and warm our feet,
And sit by the fire and spin:
And what care we for the winter gales,
And what care we for the snow—
As we sit by the fire and spin our tales
And think of the things we know?
As we spin our tales in the winter gales
And wait for the snow to go?
Oh, the winds blow high and the winds blow low,
But what care we for the wind and snow,
Spinning our tales of the long ago
As snug as snug can be?
For never a bit comes in, comes in,
As we sit by the fire and spin, and spin
The tales we know, of the long ago,
In the wonderful Hollow Tree.