Yet all the burden of his tune
Was "New—Bread—for Old!"
Quoth I: "Whence got you, lad, a heart
So glad that you must show it?"
Quoth he: "The Baker hath his art
No less, Sir, than the Poet;
I tell ye, I'm so blithe to-night
I'd paint the old Moon's orb red!
Oh, think ye that I took delight
For years in baking war-bread?