THE clock is striking four o'clock,
It is not time for tea.
Although the night is marching up
And I can hardly see.
I'm reading in the library
In a most enormous chair;
The fire is just the very kind
That makes you want to stare.
I'm looking at the largest book
That ever yet was seen;
They say I shall not understand
This tale till I'm fourteen.
Don Quixote is the name of it
With pictures on each page;
The way that he was treated puts
Me in a fearful rage.
Don Quixote was a tall thin man
Whose thoughts were just like mine,
He saw queer things, he heard queer sounds
Though he was more than nine.
He used to lie in bed and watch
The hilly counterpane.
And see strange little knights-at-arms
Go riding down a plain.
His room was simply crowded with
Enchanters, dwarfs and elves,
And dragons used to go to sleep
Upon the darkest shelves.
He used to think that common things
Were really very strange,
Like me who saw a goblin once
Upon our kitchen-range.
He saw big giants in the clouds
Marching and fighting there:
He used to listen to the leaves
And think it was a bear.
He found some armour that belonged
To people long ago,
And rode away to fight and save
Princesses from the foe.