Classic Poem

There was a man, much grieved in mind,
To think, his queue should hang behind;
He set about to change it.

How to begin?—he's puzzled quite—
‘I'll just turn round, then all comes right’—
The queue still hung behind him.

He whirls him nimbly round once more,
In vain—just as it hung before,
The queue still hangs behind him.

Presto! he twists him back again
The other way, but all in vain—
The queue still hangs behind him.

Now right, now left, behold him flirt;
It does no good, it does no hurt,
The queue still hangs behind him.

Now like a top, (without relief,)
He's spinning round and round; in brief,
The queue still hangs behind him.

And, see, he still spins round, poor wight!
And thinks, at last 't will bring things right—
The queue still hangs behind him.