W'y, I git my fancy focussed on the past so mortul plane I kin even smell the locus'-blossoms bloomin' in the lane; And I hear the cow-bells clinkin' sweeter tunes 'n "Money-musk"' Fer the lightnin' bugs a-blinkin' and a-dancin' in the dusk. And when I've kep' on "musin'," as the feller says, tel I'm Firm-fixed in the conclusion that they haint no better time, When you come to cipher on it, than the old times,--I de-clare I kin wake and say "dog-gone-it'" jest as soft as any prayer! End of Project Gutenberg's Riley Farm-Rhymes, by James Whitcomb Riley