Not dangling there behind him.
Says he, “The mystery I’ve found,—
I’ll turn me round,”—he turned him round;
But still it hung behind him.
Then round and round, and out and in,
All day the puzzled sage did spin;
In vain—it mattered not a pin—
The pigtail hung behind him.
And right, and left, and round about,
And up, and down, and in, and out