early and late, early and late,

little boy swings on the garden gate.

“it isn’t a gate; it’s a motor car!

i’m travelling fast and i’m travelling far.

i toot my horn and i turn my wheel,

and nobody knows how grand i feel!”

early and late, early and late,

little boy swings on the garden gate.

i’m off to the pole on a ’sploring trip.

i’ll ride a white bear, holding on by his hair,

[57]and i’ll hurry him up with a whaleskin whip.”

early and late, early and late,

little boy swings on the garden gate.

boy swinging on gat

“it isn’t a gate; it’s a big balloon!

i’m going to sail till i reach the moon.

i’ll play with the man as hard as i can,

and i’ll stir up the stars with a great horn spoon.”

early and late, early and late,

[58]little boy swings on the garden gate.

“it isn’t a gate; it’s—” off runs he,

his mother is calling, “come in to tea!”

it’s a wonderful gate, but it just isn’t able

to turn itself into a supper-table.