Tops

HOW would you like to be a top, To be made to spin till you couldn’t stop;-- To be pitched head first from a coil of string, To be made to dance till you sigh and swing?

There’s the top that is whipped and the top with a peg That gouges its brother and leaves him to beg; There’s the musical top with holes in its side, That is said to have played till it fell down and died.

But of all the tops that ever were spun, The biggest are those of the old daddy Sun; And I’ll wager he has just the jolliest sport With the Earth and with Saturn and tops of that sort.