I KNOW a wondrous man—my neighbor he;
He's ripe in years, and great in understanding.
He's versed in art, and in philosophy
He shows a mind that's verily commanding.
He'll stand before a painting, and without
A single instant's thought, or hesitation,
He'll tell the painter's name, nor any doubt
Is there he gives the proper information.
The rocks, the hills and valleys, hold from him
No secret that is past a man's revealing.
He knows why some are stout and others slim;
He comprehends all kinds of human feeling.
The records of the stars he knows, and each
Romance that round about the heavens lingers.
At dinner-time he oft delights to preach
On which was made the first, or forks or fingers.
Indeed, all things he knows, or high or low—
The things that fly on wing, or go a-walking—
Except one thing he never seems to know,
And that's when he should stop his endless talking.