reading

Most of the poems included in this volume have previously appeared in one or another of the many volumes of Mr. Brooks’ monumental work on the history of the animals of the Bean farm. They are offered as a sample or foretaste of the pleasure awaiting those who will be able some day to purchase the Complete Poetical Works of this gifted pig. The latter volume is in preparation and will include many new poems not hitherto available in print (though no publication date has been announced or for that matter contemplated). It is perhaps unnecessary to call attention to the artistic perfection and intellectual brilliance of Freddy’s work: the poems speak for themselves. We hope that this selection will introduce them to wide audiences, both here and abroad, among both humans and others.

Dealing primarily with farm life, and more specifically with the problems and pleasures of pigs, there is among them nevertheless something suited to every taste, applicable to every human situation.

As you can see, other Bean animals caught the fever from Freddy. Their verse, of course, has absolutely none of the fine tones found in the pig’s work, but it was deemed fair and square to include it. If nothing else, their work affords relief from the mass of stuff by the pig and about the pig.

ODE TO SPRING

O spring, O spring,

You wonderful thing!

O spring, O spring, O spring!

O spring, O spring,

When the birdies sing

I feel like a king,

O spring!

SPRING SONG

Hooray for the spring! What a glorious feeling!

All the little lambs on the hillsides squealing!

Tighten up your braces! Tuck in your shirt!

All the little green things growing in the dirt!

BUDS AND PEEPERS

Spring is in the air;

Birds are flying north;

And though trees are bare,

Now they’re putting forth

Leaves. The fields are green.

Sun is getting higher.

Monday Mr. Bean

Put out the furnace fire.

Birds are building nests;

In the swamp are peepers;

Men discard their vests;

Eggs are getting cheaper.

ON A WALK IN THE RAIN

When I set out upon this tour,

I thought the skies would be much bluer.

When I set out upon this tramp,

How could I know ’twould be so damp?

When I set out on this excursion,

I did not think it meant submersion.

When I set out upon this trip

I should have started in a ship.

ODE TO THE NORTH POLE

O Pole, O Pole, O glorious Pole!

To you I sing this song,

Where bedtime comes but once a year,

Since the nights are six months long.

Yes, the nights are six months long, my dears,

And the days are the same, you see,

So breakfast and supper each last a week,

And dinner sometimes three.

Then there’s tea and lunch, and we sometimes munch

Occasional snacks between—

Such mountains of candies and cakes and pies

Have never before been seen.

Let the wild winds howl about the Pole,

Let the snowflakes swirl and swoop;

We’re snug and warm and safe from harm

And they’re bringing in the soup.

We’ll sit at the table as long as we’re able,

We’ll rise and stretch, and then,