By Margaret Johnson
N flowery, fair Cathay,
That kingdom far away,
Where, odd as it seems, ‘t is always night
when here we are having day,
In the time of the great Ching-Wang,
In the city of proud Shi-Bang,
In the glorious golden days of old when
sage and poet sang,
That kingdom far away,
Where, odd as it seems, ‘t is always night
when here we are having day,
In the time of the great Ching-Wang,
In the city of proud Shi-Bang,
In the glorious golden days of old when
sage and poet sang,
There lived a nobleman who
Was known as the Prince Choo-Choo.
(It was long before the Chinaman wore his
beautiful silken queue.)
A learned prince was he,
As rich as a prince could be,
And his house so gay had a grand gateway,
and a wonderful roof, sky-blue.
Was known as the Prince Choo-Choo.
(It was long before the Chinaman wore his
beautiful silken queue.)
A learned prince was he,
As rich as a prince could be,
And his house so gay had a grand gateway,
and a wonderful roof, sky-blue.
His garden was bright with tints
Of blossoming peach and quince,
And a million flowers whose like has not
been seen before or since;
And set ’mid delicate odors
Were cute little toy pagodas,
That looked exactly as if you might go in
for ice-cream sodas!
Of blossoming peach and quince,
And a million flowers whose like has not
been seen before or since;
And set ’mid delicate odors
Were cute little toy pagodas,
That looked exactly as if you might go in
for ice-cream sodas!
A silver fountain played
In a bowl of carven jade,
And pink and white in a crystal pond the
water-lilies swayed.
But never a flower that grew
In the garden of Prince Choo-Choo
Was half so fair as his daughter there, the
Princess Loo-lee Loo.
In a bowl of carven jade,
And pink and white in a crystal pond the
water-lilies swayed.
But never a flower that grew
In the garden of Prince Choo-Choo
Was half so fair as his daughter there, the
Princess Loo-lee Loo.
Each day she came and sat
On her queer little bamboo mat.
(And I hope she carried a doll or two, but I
can't be sure of that!)
She watched the fountain toss,
And she gazed the bridge across,
And she worked a bit of embroidery fine
with a thread of silken floss.
On her queer little bamboo mat.
(And I hope she carried a doll or two, but I
can't be sure of that!)
She watched the fountain toss,
And she gazed the bridge across,
And she worked a bit of embroidery fine
with a thread of silken floss.
Vol. XXXII—3.
57