A TALE OF NONSENSE-LAND.
All through the castle of High-bred Ease,
Where the chief employment was do-as-you-please,
Spread consternation and wild despair.
The queen was wringing her hands and hair,
The maids of honor were sad and solemn,
The pages looked blank as they stood in column,
The court jester blubbered "boo-hoo, boo-hoo,"
The cook in the kitchen dropped tears in the stew,
And all through the castle went sob and wail,
For the princess had broken a finger-nail.
The beautiful Princess Red-as-a-Rose,
Bride-elect of the Lord High-Nose,
Broken her finger-nail down to the quick--
No wonder the queen and her court were sick;
Never sorrow so dread before
Had dared to enter that castle door.
Oh! what would my Lord His-High-Nose say
When she took off her glove on her wedding day?
The fairest princess in Nonsense Land
With a broken finger-nail on her hand!
'Twas a terrible, terrible accident--
And they called a meeting of parliament,
And never before that royal court
Had come such a question of grave import
As "how could you hurry a nail to grow?"
And the skill of the kingdom was called to show.
They sent for Monsieur File-'em-off;
He smothered down the corner so ragged and rough.
They sent for Madame la Diamond-Dust,
Who lived on the fingers of upper-crust.
They sent for Professor de Chamois-Skin,
Who took his powder and rubbed it in.
They sent for the pudgy nurse, Fat-on-the-bone,
To bathe her finger in eau de cologne.
And they called the court surgeon, Monsieur Red-Tape,
To hear what he thought of the new nail's shape.
Over the kingdom the telegrams flew
Which told how the finger-nail thrived and grew,
And all through the realm of Nonsense Land
They offered up prayers for the princess' hand.
At length the glad tidings was heard with a shout
That the princess' finger-nail had grown out;
Pointed and polished and pink and clean,
Befitting the hand of a some-day queen.
Salutes were fired all over the land
By the home-guard battery pop-gun band,
And great was the joy of my Lord High-Nose,
Who straightway ordered his wedding clothes,
And paid his tailor, Don Wait-for-aye,
Who died of amazement the self-same day.
My lord by a jury was judged insane,
For they said, and the truth of the saying was plain,
That a lord of such very high pedigree
Would never be paying his bills-- you see--
Unless he was out of his head; and so
They locked him up without more ado.
And the beautiful princess Red-as-a-Rose
Pined for her lover, my Lord High-Nose,
Till she entered a convent and took the veil--
And this is the end of my nonsense tale.
The Beautiful Land of Nod by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago: Morrill, Higgins & Co. 
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