Five Part Songs for Women's Unaccompanied Three-Part Choir , opus 112

It was the Rainbow gave thee birth,
    And left thee all her lovely hues; 
And, as her mother's name was Tears,
    So runs it in my blood to choose 
For haunts the lonely pools, and keep
In company with trees that weep.

Go you and, with such glorious hues,
    Live with proud peacocks in green parks; 
On lawns as smooth as shining glass,
    Let every feather show its marks; 
Get thee on boughs and clap thy wings
Before the windows of proud kings.

Nay, lovely Bird, thou art not vain;
    Thou hast no proud, ambitious mind; 
I also love a quiet place
    That's green, away from all mankind; 
A lonely pool, and let a tree
Sigh with her bosom over me.

The friendly cow all red and white,
I love with all my heart.
She gives me cream with all her might,
To eat with apple tart.

She wanders lowing here and there,
And yet she cannot stray,
All in the pleasant open air,
The pleasant light of day;

And blown by all the winds that pass
And wet with all the showers,
She walks among the meadow grass
And eats the meadow flowers.

Autumn is weary, halt, and old;
   Ah, but she owns the song of joy!
Her colours fade, her woods are cold.
   Her singing-bird's a boy, a boy.
 
In lovely Spring the birds were bent
   On nests, on use, on love, forsooth!
Grown-up were they. This boy's content,
   For his is liberty, his is youth.
 
The musical stripling sings for play
   Taking no thought, and virgin-glad.
For duty sang those mates in May.
   This singing-bird's a lad, a lad.

They haven't got no noses,
The fallen sons of Eve;
Even the smell of roses
Is not what they supposes;
But more than mind discloses
And more than men believe.

They haven't got no noses,
They cannot even tell
When door and darkness closes
The park a Jew encloses,
Where even the law of Moses
Will let you steal a smell.

The brilliant smell of water,
The brave smell of a stone,
The smell of dew and thunder,
The old bones buried under,
Are things in which they blunder
And err, if left alone.

The wind from winter forests,
The scent of scentless flowers,
The breath of brides' adorning,
The smell of snare and warning,
The smell of Sunday morning,
God gave to us for ours

And Quoodle here discloses
All things that Quoodle can,
They haven't got no noses,
They haven't got no noses,
And goodness only knowses
The Noselessness of Man.