We who play under the pines,
We who dance in the snow,
That shines blue in the light of the moon,
Sometimes halt as we go.
Stand with our ears erect,
Our noses testing the air,
To gaze at the golden world,
Behind the window there.
Suns they have in a cave,
And stars each on a tall white stem,
And the thought of fox or night owl,
Seems never to trouble them.
They laugh and they eat and are warm,
Their food seems ready at hand,
While hungry out in the cold
We little rabbits stand.
But they never dance as we dance,
They have not the speed nor grace,
We scorn both the cat and the dog,
Who lie by the fireplace,
We scorn them licking their paws,
Their eyes on an upraised spoon,
We who dance hungry and wild,
Under a winter's moon.
Songs of the Rabbits Outside the Tavern