Classic Poem

All my pleasure is in catching of birds,
And making of snowballs and throwing the same;
For the which purpose to have set in frame,
With my godfather good I would fain have spoken,
Desiring him to have sent me by some token
Where I might have had great frost for my pitfalls
And plenty of snow to make my snowballs.
This once had, boys' lives be such as no man leads.
O, to see my snowballs light on my fellows' heads,
And to hear the birds how they flicker their wings
In the pitfall! I say it passeth all things.