They haven't got no noses,
The fallen sons of Eve;
Even the smell of
Is not what they supposes;
But more than mind
And more than men believe.
They haven't got no noses,
They cannot even
When door and darkness
The park a Jew encloses,
Where even the law of
Will let you steal a smell.
The brilliant smell of water,
The brave smell of a stone,
The smell of dew and thunder,
The old bones buried under,
Are things in which they
And err, if left alone.
The wind from winter forests,
The scent of scentless flowers,
The breath of brides' adorning,
The smell of snare and warning,
The smell of Sunday morning,
God gave to us for ours *And Quoodle here
All things that Quoodle can,
They haven't got no noses,
They haven't got no noses,
And goodness only
The Noselessness of Man.
