Songs from Vagabondia

<h3><SPAN name="IN_THE_HOUSE_OF_IDIEDAILY" name="IN_THE_HOUSE_OF_IDIEDAILY"></SPAN>IN THE HOUSE OF IDIEDAILY.</h3> <p>Oh, but life went gayly, gayly, <br/>In the house of Idiedaily! <br/> <br/>There were always throats to sing <br/>Down the river-banks with spring, <br/> <br/>When the stir of heart's desire <br/>Set the sapling's heart on fire. <br/> <br/>Bobolincolns in the meadows, <br/>Leisure in the purple shadows, <br/> <br/>Till the poppies without number <br/>Bowed their heads in crimson slumber, <br/> <br/>And the twilight came to cover <br/>Every unreluctant lover. <br/> <br/>Not a night but some brown maiden <br/>Bettered all the dusk she strayed in, <br/> <br/>While the roses in her hair <br/>Bankrupted oblivion there. <br/> <br/>Oh, but life went gayly, gayly, <br/>In the house of Idiedaily! <br/> <br/>But this hostelry, The Barrow, <br/>With its chambers, bare and narrow, <br/> <br/>Mean, ill-windowed, damp, and wormy, <br/>Where the silence makes you squirmy, <br/> <br/>And the guests are never seen to, <br/>Is a vile place, a mere lean-to, <br/> <br/>Not a traveller speaks well of, <br/>Even worse than I heard tell of, <br/> <br/>Mouldy, ramshackle, and foul. <br/>What a dwelling for a soul! <br/> <br/>Oh, but life went gayly, gayly, <br/>In the house of Idiedaily! <br/> <br/>There the hearth was always warm, <br/>From the slander of the storm. <br/> <br/>There your comrade was your neighbor, <br/>Living on to-morrow's labor. <br/> <br/>And the board was always steaming, <br/>Though Sir Ringlets might be dreaming. <br/> <br/>Not a plate but scoffed at porridge, <br/>Not a cup but floated borage. <br/> <br/>There were always jugs of sherry <br/>Waiting for the makers merry, <br/> <br/>And the dark Burgundian wine <br/>That would make a fool divine. <br/> <br/>Oh, but life went gayly, gayly <br/>In the house of Idiedaily!</p> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />