The Land Of Blow Bubbles

His curls are like rings of red gold on his head, His lips are as red as a cherry, His cheeks are as round as an apple, and red, His eyes full of mischief and merry. His heart is as pure as a snowflake in air, A fig for the whole of his troubles! For he’s my Boy Careless--you’ve seen him somewhere, And he lives in the land of Blow Bubbles!

Now he’s riding a stick that is legless and dead, Through the lanes and across the sere stubbles, For a stick is a horse with four legs and a head In that magic boy land of Blow Bubbles! He bears at his side a sword cut from a lath, With a big wooden gun on his shoulder, And woe to the wild beast that crosses his path For never a huntsman was bolder.

Now down from his steed leaps Boy Careless in haste, He drops on one knee in the stubbles, For stubbles are woods full of wild beasts, all chased To their death by the boys in Blow Bubbles! His musket he brings to his shoulder and shoots, The sound of it echoes and doubles, For a make-believe gun kills the make-believe brutes In that magic boy land of Blow Bubbles.

Then out from the forest a savage all red With blood-curdling yell leaps to battle, A thrust from the big wooden sword--he is dead With a most melancholy death-rattle. Then up from the ground lifts Boy Careless his horse, And back o’er the all-trackless stubbles, For it’s many a mile to his cabin, of course, In the magic boy land of Blow Bubbles.

Oh, joy to the lad in his make-believe ride With the make-believe gun on his shoulder, With the make-believe sword cut from lath at his side, And a sigh from the heart that is older! A whistle for Care from the harp of his lips, A fig for the whole of his troubles, When he’s off like the wind on his make-believe trips In the magic boy land of Blow Bubbles!