Here's to the Mice!

(Written with the hope that the socialists might yet dethrone Kaiser and Czar.)


Here's to the mice that scare the lions,
Creeping into their cages.
Here's to the fairy mice that bite
The elephants fat and wise:
Hidden in the hay-pile while the elephant thunder rages.
Here's to the scurrying, timid mice
Through whom the proud cause dies.

Here's to the seeming accident
When all is planned and working,
All the flywheels turning,
Not a vassal shirking.
Here's to the hidden tunneling thing
That brings the mountain's groans.
Here's to the midnight scamps that gnaw,
Gnawing away the thrones.

Vachel Lindsay

Vachel Lindsay was an American poet known for his innovative performances of his poetry, which combined spoken word with music and theatrics. Born in Springfield, Illinois, Lindsay's work often revolved around American history and culture, reflecting his progressive social views. He played a significant role in the early 20th-century American poetry scene, influencing contemporaries and later poets with his dynamic style and passionate delivery.

Vachel Lindsay

How I Walked Alone in the Jungles of Heaven

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

To Mary Pickford - Moving-picture Actress

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

Lincoln

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

What the Snow Man Said

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Mouse that gnawed the Oak-tree Down

    The mouse that gnawed the oak-tree down
    Began his task in early life.
    He kept so busy with his teeth
    He had no time to take a wife.

    He gnawed and gnawed through sun and rain
    When the ambitious fit was on,
    Then rested in the sawdust till
    A month of idleness had gone.

    He did not move about to hunt
    The coteries of mousie-men.
    He was a snail-paced, stupid thing
    Until he cared to gnaw again.

    The mouse that gnawed the oak-tree down,
    When that tough foe was at his feet -
    Found in the stump no angel-cake
    Nor buttered bread, nor cheese, nor meat -
    The forest-roof let in the sky.
    "This light is worth the work," said he.
    "I'll make this ancient swamp more light,"
...

Vachel Lindsay

Popcorn, Glass Balls, and Cranberries (As it were)

        I. The Lion


    The Lion is a kingly beast.
    He likes a Hindu for a feast.
    And if no Hindu he can get,
    The lion-family is upset.

    He cuffs his wife and bites her ears
    Till she is nearly moved to tears.
    Then some explorer finds the den
    And all is family peace again.



        II.    An Explanation of the Grasshopper


    The Grasshopper, the grasshopper,
    I will explain to you: -
    He is the Brownies' racehorse,
    The fairies' Kangaroo.



        III.    The Dangerous Little Boy Fairies


    In fairyland the little boys
    Would rather fight than eat their meals.
    They like to chase a gauze-winged fly
    And catch and beat him till he ...

Vachel Lindsay

The League Of The Rats.

A mouse was once in mortal fear
Of a cat that watch'd her portal near.
What could be done in such a case?
With prudent care she left the catship,
And courted, with a humble grace,
A neighbour of a higher race,
Whose lordship - I should say his ratship -
Lay in a great hotel;
And who had boasted oft, 'tis said,
Of living wholly without dread.
'Well,' said this braggart, 'well,
Dame Mouse, what should I do?
Alone I cannot rout
The foe that threatens you.
I'll rally all the rats about,
And then I'll play him such a trick!'
The mouse her court'sy dropp'd,
And off the hero scamper'd quick,
Nor till he reach'd the buttery stopp'd,
Where scores of rats were clustered,
In riotous extravagance,
All feasting at the host's expense.
To him, a...

Jean de La Fontaine

The War Of The Rats And Mice.

Far back within an age remote,
    Which common history fails to note,
When dogs could talk, and pigs could sing,
    And frogs obeyed a wooden king,
There lived a tribe of rats so mean,
    That such a set was never seen.
For during all the livelong day
    They fought and quarrelled in the hay,
And then at night they robbed the mice,
    Who always were so kind and nice.
They stole their bread, they stole their meat,
    And all the jam they had to eat;
They gobbled up their pies and cake,
    And everything the mice could bake;
They stuffed themselves with good fresh meal,
    And ruined all they could not steal;
They slapped their long tails in the butter
    Until they made a frightful splutter;
Then, sleek and fine in coats of silk,
    Th...

Edwin C. Ranck

The Cockerel, The Cat, And The Young Mouse.

^[1]

A youthful mouse, not up to trap,
Had almost met a sad mishap.
The story hear him thus relate,
With great importance, to his mother: -
'I pass'd the mountain bounds of this estate,
And off was trotting on another,
Like some young rat with nought to do
But see things wonderful and new,
When two strange creatures came in view.
The one was mild, benign, and gracious;
The other, turbulent, rapacious,
With voice terrific, shrill, and rough,
And on his head a bit of stuff
That look'd like raw and bloody meat,
Raised up a sort of arms, and beat
The air, as if he meant to fly,
And bore his plumy tail on high.'

A cock, that just began to crow,
As if some nondescript,
From far New Holland shipp'd,
Was what our mousling...

Jean de La Fontaine

The Old Cat And The Young Mouse.

To Monseigneur, The Duke De Bourgogne; Who Had Requested Of M. De La Fontaine A Fable Which Should Be Called "The Cat And The Mouse."

To please a youthful prince, whom Fame
A temple in my writings vows,
What fable answers to the name,
"The Cat and Mouse?"
Shall I in verse the fair present,
With softest look but hard intent,
Who serves the hearts her charms entice
As does the cat its captive mice?
Or make my subject Fortune's sport?
She treats the friends that make her court,
And follow closest her advice,
As treats the cat the silly mice.

Shall I for theme a king select
Who sole, of all her favourites,
Commands the goddess's respect?
For whom she from her wheel alights.
Who, never stay'd by foes a trice,
Whene'er they block his way,
...

Jean de La Fontaine