I hear it talking in the night,
As if it were in clover:
You've never lost your appetite,
You've never been run over.
It makes me wish that I might live
More faithful unto duty,
And unto others something give
Like this bijou of beauty.
It holds its hands before its face,
So very modest is it;
So like the people in the place
Where I delight to visit.
Sometimes I wonder if it cries
The course I am pursuing;
Because it has so many I-s
And must know what I'm doing.
Sometimes I fear it makes me cry—
No matter, and no pity—
Afraid at last I'll have to die
In some far, foreign city.
It travels with me everywhere
And chirrups like a cricket;
As if it said with anxious air,
"Don't lose your tick-tick-ticket!"
Companion of my loneliness
Along my journey westward,
It never leaves me comfortless,
But has the last and best word.
I would not spoil its lovely face,
And so I go behind it,
And hold it like a china vase,
So careful when I wind it.
A clock is always excellent
That has its label on,
And proves a fine advertisement
For Waterbury, Conn.
Those Yankees—ah! they never shun
A chance to make a dime,
And counterfeit the very sun
In keeping "Standard Time."