V
Then the Scholar;
With eyes severe, and hair of formal cut.
Nothing is quite so hard, I think,
As drawing maps with pen and ink.
You dot the cities, every one,
And make long lines where rivers run.
And every single coasting line
Must wave in curves as fine as fine.
The rivers wriggle up and down
Across the green and through the brown;
You have to measure all the while,—
A half an inch is 'most a mile.
I do think maps are awful queer,
They seem to bring the whole world here.
Why, as I sit here in my chair,
I see the countries everywhere.
I see across to far Japan,
With funny people, like a fan.