Vachel Lindsay The mouse that gnawed the oak-tree

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,”
And started on another tree.

Мышь, который сгрыз дуб

О, юный Мышь, кто дуб прогрыз,
Жены найти не смог,
Все грыз - работал - сверху вниз,
И вдоль, и поперек.

Он грыз и грыз. Сквозь солнце,  дождь.
Не знал иных утех,
Затем уснул в опилках. Что ж,
И отдохнуть не грех.

Он на охоту не ходил,
Как клан мышей в амбар.
Улиткой медленной прожил,
Храня особый дар -

Он дуб добил погожим днем,
Свалив его к ногам,
Не обнаружив сыра в нем,
Ни крошки пирога.
«Зато как стало здесь светло!
Я - славный лесоруб,
Со мной округе повезло!»
И…  выбрал новый дуб.