Poem by Archibald MacLeish

Chevaux de Bois

Who'll ride on the Merry-go-round!
		Toot! Toot!
Who'll ride on the Merry-go-round!
	Who'll undergo birth
	For a whirl on the earth,
Who'll ride on the Merry-go-round!
		Ump! Ump!
Who'll ride on the Merry-go-round!

You swing through unlimited space
With nothing to hold you in place,
	You circle the sun
	Till you're giddy with fun
And the nebulæ laugh in your face,
		Toot! Toot!
And the nebulæ laugh in your face.

Three hundred and sixty-five twirls
To each of your annual whirls,
	With a vortical moon
	For a sort of balloon
And a meteorite in your curls,
		Ump! Ump!
And a meteorite in your curls.

You can ride on the Pegasus steed,
Or the hobbledy horse on a lead;
	It won't matter a bit
	If you pull or you hit
There's only one possible speed,
		Toot! Toot!
There's only one possible speed.

You can ride on the true lover's throne
With the lad or the lass that's your own,
	You can laugh at the rest
	In his arms,—on her breast,—
But you'll stop, when you stop, by your lone,
		Ump! Ump!
But you'll stop, when you stop, by your lone.

You pay as you enter, my dear,
And you pay after that every year,
	And you pay after that
	When they pass the big hat,
And you pay when you leave, never fear,
		Toot! Toot!
And you pay when you leave us, my dear.

1. The Lord Chancellor Prepares His Opinion
2. Hunters
3. Hypocrites
4. Kenneth
5. Difference

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