Classic Poem

A hare with perfect right
May nibble, conscience-free,
His cabbage till he's quite
As full as full can be,
And live his little life so dear,—
Supposing that no fox is near.

And if a fox should try
To make the hare his prey
And cook him in his den,
The hare may spring up high
And nimbly speed away
On his hare-legs again.
But this to do he may not dare:
Call himself other than a hare.