Sometimes 'tis far off, and sometimes 'tis nigh,
Such drummerdery noises too they be !
'Tis odd — oh, I do hope I baint to die
Just as the summer months be coming on,
And buffly chicken out, and bumble-bee :
Though, to be sure, I cannot hear 'em plain
For this drat row as goes a-drumming on.
Just like a little soldier in my brain.
And oh, I've heard we got to go through flame
And water-floods — but maybe 'tisn't true !
I alius were a-frightened o' the sea.
And burning fires — oh, it would be a shame
And all the garden ripe, and sky so blue.
Such drummerdery noises, too, they be.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.