Classic Poem

Good King Wenceslas looked out
On the Feast of Friday—
There he saw three charming girls
Trying to look untidy—
Never vagabonds were neater:
Hastily he changed the metre
Asked them in and greeted each
In the Czecho-Slovak speech
So Bohemia's Saints must talk:
Then the three resumed their walk
Neighbours saw them trail along
Boyish hats, barbaric song;
Murmured low “I fear the Grays
Have got into Bohemian Ways.”