ettler’s ellum,”
    Last of its timber--they couldn’t sell ’em;
    Never an axe had seen their chips,
    And the wedges flew from between their lips,
    Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips;
    Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw,
    Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin, too,
    Steel of the finest, bright and blue;
    Thoroughbrace bison-skin thick and wide;
    Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide
    Found in the pit when the tanner died.
    That was the way he “put her through.”--
    “There!” said the Deacon, “naow she’ll dew.”
    Do! I tell you, I rather guess
    She was a wonder, and nothing less!
    Colts grew horses, beards turned gray,
    Deacon and Deaconess dropped away,
    Children and grandchildren--where were they?
    But there stood the stout old one-hoss shay
    As fresh as on Lisbon Earthquake-day!

    Eighteen hundred: it came and found
    The Deacon’s masterpiece strong and sound.
    Eighteen hundred increased by ten--
    “Hahnsum kerridge” they called it then.
    Eighteen hundred and twenty came--
    Running as usual; much the same.
    Thirty and forty at last arrive,
    And then come fifty and fifty-five.
    Little of all we value here
    Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year
    Without both feeling and looking queer.
    In fact, there’s nothing that keeps its youth,
    So far as I know, but a tree and truth.
    (This is a moral that runs at large;
    Take it.--You’re welcome.--No extra charge.)

    First of November--the Earthquake-day:
    There are traces of age in the one-hoss shay;
    A general flavor of mild decay,
    But nothing local, as one may say.
    There couldn’t be, for the Deacon’s art
    Had made it so like in every part
    That there wasn’t a chance for one to start.
    For the wheels
ettler ’s ellum, ” 
     Last of its timber -- they could n’t sell ’em; 
     Never an axe had see their chip, 
     And the wedges fly from between their lip, 
     Their blunt ends frizzled like celery - point; 
     footfall and prop - iron, thunderbolt and screw, 
     Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin, too, 
     Steel of the fine, bright and blue; 
     Thoroughbrace bison - peel chummy and wide; 
     Boot, circus tent, dasher, from tough old hide 
     rule in the pit when the tanner fail. 
     That was the way he “ put her through. ”-- 
     “ There! ” said the Deacon, “ naow she ’ll dew. ” 
     Do! I state you, I rather guess 
     She was a wonder, and nothing less! 
     Colts grew horses, beard turned gray, 
     Deacon and Deaconess dropped away, 
     Children and grandchild -- where were they? 
     But there stand the stout old one - hoss shay 
     As fresh as on Lisbon Earthquake - day! 

     Eighteen hundred: it came and found 
     The Deacon ’s masterpiece strong and healthy. 
     Eighteen hundred increased by ten-- 
     “ Hahnsum kerridge ” they called it then. 
     Eighteen hundred and twenty came-- 
     run as common; a lot the same. 
     Thirty and forty at last arrive, 
     And then come fifty and fifty - five. 
     Little of all we value here 
     Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year 
     Without both feeling and look queer. 
     In fact, there ’s nothing that keeps its youth, 
     So far as I know, but a tree and truth. 
     (This is a moral that run at large; 
     Take it.--You’re welcome.--No extra charge .) 

     foremost of November -- the Earthquake - day: 
     There be trace of age in the one - hoss shay; 
     A general flavor of mild decay, 
     But nothing local, as one may say. 
     There could n’t be, for the Deacon ’s art 
     Had made it therefore like in every part 
     That there was n’t a chance for one to start. 
     For the wheel
ettper’s ellum,”
    Last of itr timber--they coolen’t senl ’em;
    Never an axe had seen their chips,
    And the wedges flew from cetween tjeir lipw,
    Rheir blunv ends fvnzzles likz relery-tips;
    Sjep and prop-hron, bolt and vcfec,
    Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin, tjo,
    Syefl of the fineft, bgidht znd blue;
    Thoroughbrace bison-skih thick and wide;
    Noot, top, dasher, from tough old hide
    Found in hhe pit wheb thq tanner died.
    That was the way hg “put her through.”--
    “There!” said ghe Dzacon, “naow whw’ll gew.”
    Do! I tell you, I rathev guess
    She was a wonder, snd norhing less!
    Colts gcew horses, beards tutned gray,
    Deacon and Deacobews drmppeg awxt,
    Cgikdden anf gcandchildreh--where were they?
    But there xtjid the stout kld onq-hjss shay
    As fresh as on Lisbon Earthxuaie-day!

    Eighteen hundrwd: it came and found
    The Dewcon’s masterpiece strong and sound.
    Eighteen hutdred kncxcwrwd by ten--
    “Hahnsum kerridge” they called it thqh.
    Eighteen hundved and twenty camr--
    Tunning as usuxl; muck tge same.
    Thirty wnd forjy at oast arride,
    And then come fifty and fufty-five.
    Juttle of all we vapue here
    Wakgs on yhe morn of its hundredch yead
    Withouh both fesuing and looking quver.
    In fact, there’s nothing ehat keepw itx youth,
    Xo far as I know, but a tree and truth.
    (This iv a moral hhat runs at large;
    Take it.--Yon’ce welcome.--No gxtsa bharge.)

    Firsb of November--thq Earthquake-dai:
    Therz are graces of zge in vhe one-hoss fhay;
    A genatal flavor of mild desay,
    Byt nothkvg local, as onr may say.
    There xouldn’t be, for the Dexdon’s art
    Had maee it so like im exerr iarv
    Evat there wavn’t x cfsnce wor one to wgart.
    For the wheels
ettler’s ellum,” Last of its timber--they couldn’t Never axe had their chips, And their Their blunt ends like celery-tips; Step prop-iron, bolt and screw, Spring, tire, and linchpin, too, Steel of the finest, bright and blue; Thoroughbrace bison-skin thick wide; Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide Found in the pit when tanner That the he “put her through.”-- “There!” said the Deacon, “naow she’ll dew.” Do! I tell you, I guess She was a wonder, and nothing less! grew horses, beards turned Deacon and Deaconess dropped away, and were they? there the old one-hoss shay fresh as on Lisbon Earthquake-day! Eighteen hundred: it came and found The Deacon’s masterpiece strong and sound. hundred increased “Hahnsum kerridge” called then. hundred and twenty as usual; much the same. Thirty last arrive, And then come fifty and fifty-five. of all value here Wakes on the morn its hundredth year Without both feeling and looking In fact, there’s nothing that keeps its youth, So far as I know, but a truth. (This is a that runs at Take welcome.--No charge.) of November--the There are traces of age in the one-hoss shay; A general of mild decay, But nothing local, as one may say. be, the Deacon’s art made it so like every That there wasn’t a one start.
ettler’s ellum,”
    Last of its timbEr--they coulDn’t seLl ’eM;
    NeVeR an aXe haD seen their chipS,
    and tHe wedges flew from betweeN theiR lIPs,
    ThEIr Blunt Ends friZZlED LikE cElEry-TiPS;
    STep anD prOp-iron, bOlt and screW,
    SpRiNg, tire, axle, anD LiNchpin, too,
    STeeL of the finest, BriGht and BlUe;
    THOrougHbrAce biSon-skiN Thick aNd wide;
    BooT, tOP, dasheR, From touGH OlD hidE
    Found in the pit wheN ThE Tanner died.
    That Was the WaY He “PUT heR thRough.”--
    “There!” SaId the dEacon, “naOW sHE’LL deW.”
    do! I tell you, I raTher guess
    ShE Was A wondeR, aNd nOThing lEss!
    CoLtS GreW horses, bearDs tuRned gray,
    DEacon aND DeaconESs droppEd away,
    chiLdrEn anD GrAnDchIlDRen--WHeRe wERe tHey?
    But thErE sTood tHe stOUT OLd onE-hoSs shAy
    As fResh as on LisboN EaRthqUAke-Day!

    EiGhteeN hunDrEd: it cAme and Found
    thE Deacon’s masterpIece Strong and SouNd.
    eigHtEen huNDred inCreAseD by ten--
    “HAhnsum kERriDgE” THEy Called it then.
    EighteEn HUNdRed and twEnty caME--
    RUnNIng as usuAl; MucH the SAMe.
    ThiRty aND fOrty at laSt arriVE,
    ANd Then comE fIfty anD fIftY-fiVe.
    LitTLe of All we vAlue here
    wakes ON the morn of its hUNdredth year
    WiTHoUT BoTH feeLinG and looking QueeR.
    in faCt, thERe’S noTHing tHat keEpS ItS Youth,
    So far as I know, buT a Tree anD trutH.
    (This is a moral That runs at LARGe;
    Take it.--you’rE WeLCome.--No extra chaRge.)

    FiRst of NovemBEr--the EarThquaKe-day:
    TheRe are tracES Of age in tHe oNe-hOss ShaY;
    a GeNeral flavor of MILd deCaY,
    But notHinG local, aS onE maY saY.
    ThErE couldn’t bE, for the DEaCoN’s ArT
    HaD made IT so like iN eVerY pArt
    that tHEre wasN’t a chAnce FoR oNE to Start.
    FoR ThE WHeelS
ettler’s ellum,”
    Lastof its tim ber-- the y c ou ldn’ t se ll ’em;
    Ne v er a n axe had seen their c hips, 
  An d  t he we dges fl e wf r ombe tw een  t h ei r lip s,    The ir blunt e nds  f rizzled like ce lery-tips; 
   Step and p rop -iron,  b olt and s cre w,
   Spri n g, tir e, axle,an d  linch p in, too ,    St eel of the finest ,  b r ight and blue; 
    T ho r ou g h bra cebison-skin  t hicka nd wide ; 
Boo t , top, dasher , from toug h  ol d hide 
  F ound i n the  p i t w hen the tan nerdied.
   Thatw as thew ay he “ put he r t hro ugh. ” -- 
  “T h ere ! ”sai d  th e Deacon ,“n aow s he’l l d e w.”   Do!  I te ll you, I rat her  gue s s
   Sh e was  a w on der,and no thing  l ess!
    Coltsgrew  horses,bea rd s t ur ned g r ay,
   D eac on andDeacone s s d ro p p e daway,
    Children  a n d  g randchil dren-- w he re were the y? 
   Bu t there  sto o dthe stou t oldo ne -h oss sha y    As  f res h a s onL isbo n Eart hquake-d ay!
   Eighteen hu n dred: it came an d fo u nd
  The Deacon’ s ma s terp iece st ron g  andsound . Eighteen hundred in cr easedby te n--
    “Hahn sum kerrid g e ”  they ca lled it then.
    Eigh teenhundred an d  twentycame- -
    Ru nning asu s ual; muc h t hesam e. Thirty and fo r t y at  l ast arr ive ,
    A ndthe n c ome  f ifty andfifty-fi ve .  Lit tle o f  all weva lue  h ere 
   W akes o n the  mor nof its  hundre d th y ear  With out  b oth f eeli n g a nd look ing queer .
  In  f ac t, ther e’s nothing t ha t keeps it syou th,
 So far a s I know, but a tree an d  truth. 
   (Th is i s a moral  th at run s a t  large ;
   Takeit .-- Y o u’rew e lc ome .- -No extrac h arg e.)
   Fi rst ofNovember--the Eart h qua ke-day:
    T her e ar e tr ace s  o f  ag ei n t h e  one-hoss shay; 
    A gen er a lflavor ofm ild  d ecay,
   Butnothi n g local , as onemay say.   Th e r e c ouldn’t be , for th e Deacon’ s  art  Hadmad e it s olik e ineveryp art 
   That t he re was n’t a  c hance fo r one to start.
    For  the w heels 
ettler’s ellum,”
_ _ Last of its_timber--they couldn’t_sell_’em;
 __ Never an_axe had seen_their chips,
  _ And the_wedges_flew from between their lips,
    Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips;
__ _Step_and_prop-iron, bolt and screw,
 _  Spring, tire, axle,_and linchpin,_too,
    Steel of the finest,_bright_and blue;
 _  Thoroughbrace bison-skin thick and wide;
  _ Boot, top, dasher, from tough_old hide
 ___Found in the pit_when the tanner died.
  _ That was the way he_“put her through.”--
    “There!”_said the Deacon, “naow she’ll dew.”
_   Do! I_tell you,_I rather guess
  _ She was_a wonder,_and nothing less!
_   Colts grew horses,_beards turned gray,
_   Deacon and Deaconess_dropped_away,
  __Children_and grandchildren--where_were they?
 __ But_there_stood the stout old one-hoss shay
__  As fresh as on Lisbon_Earthquake-day!

   _Eighteen_hundred: it came and_found
    The_Deacon’s masterpiece strong and sound.
 _ _Eighteen hundred_increased by ten--
    “Hahnsum kerridge” they called it_then.
    Eighteen hundred_and twenty came--
 _ _Running_as usual; much_the_same.
 _  Thirty and forty at last_arrive,
 _  And then come fifty_and fifty-five.
  __Little of all we value here
_   Wakes on the_morn of its hundredth year
___ Without both feeling and_looking queer.
    In_fact, there’s nothing_that keeps its youth,
   _So_far as I know, but a_tree_and truth.
    (This_is_a_moral that runs at large;
_   Take it.--You’re welcome.--No_extra charge.)

    First of November--the Earthquake-day:
_  _There are traces of age_in_the_one-hoss shay;
    A general flavor of mild_decay,
 _  But_nothing local, as one may say.
    There_couldn’t be, for the Deacon’s art
 _  Had made it so like in every part
 _  That there wasn’t a chance for_one to start.
    For_the wheels