La Dispute - Seven lyrics

The Mole had been working very hard all the
Morning, spring-cleaning his little home
First with brooms
Then with dusters then on ladders
And steps and chairs
With a brush and a pail of
Whitewash till he had dust in
His throat and eyes
And splashes of whitewash all over his
Black fur spring was moving in the air above
And in the earth below and around him
Penetrating even his dark and
Lowly little house with
It's spirit of divine discontent and longing
It was small wonder, then, that
He suddenly flung down his brush
On the floor, and said
‘Bother!’ Something up above was calling him
So he scraped and scratched and
Scrabbled and scrooged and
Then scrooged again and scrabbled
And scratched and scraped
Working busily with his little
Paws and muttering to himself
‘Up we go! Up we go!’ till
At last, pop! His snout came
Out into the sunlight
And he found himself rolling in the
Warm grass of a great meadow
‘This is fine!’ he said to himself, and
Jumping off all his four legs
At once, in the joy of living
And the delight of spring
He pursued his way across the meadow till he
Reached the hedge on the further side
Hither and thither through the
Meadows he rambled
Busily, finding everywhere birds
Building, flowers budding, leaves thrusting
Everything happy, and progressive
And occupied and instead
Of having an uneasy conscience pricking him
He somehow could only feel how
Jolly it was to be the only idle dog among
All these busy citizens
He thought his happiness was complete when
As he meandered aimlessly along
Suddenly he stood by the edge
Of a full-fed river
Never in his life had he seen a river
Before this sleek, sinuous, full-bodied
Animal, chasing and chuckling
Gripping things with a gurgle and leaving
Them with a laugh, to fling it'self on
Fresh playmates that shook themselves free
And were caught and held again
All was a-shake and a-shiver
Glints and gleams and sparkles
Rustle and swirl, chatter
And bubble the mole was bewitched, entranced
Fascinated by the side of the river he
Trotted as one trots, when very small
By the side of a
Man who holds one spell-bound by
Exciting stories and when
Tired at last, he sat on the bank
While the river chattered on to him
A babbling
Procession of the best stories in the world
Sent from the heart of the earth to be
Told at last to the insatiable sea
The mole waggled his toes
From sheer happiness, spread
His chest with a sigh of full contentment
And leaned back blissfully ‘WHAT a
Day I’m having!’ he said