Down the rutted lane a cart is rumbling —
The cross-grained carter grumbling,
Muttering and mumbling
At his horse's stumbling —
And day begins again.

Each daybreak down the lane that cart has rumbled;
And the crusty carter grumbled,
Muttered thus, and mumbled,
As his old horse stumbled,
Since I abed have lain.

Yet, one dawn, down the lane the cart will rumble;
And I'll not hear the carter grumble,
Nor heed his muttering mumble,
Nor feel each lumbering stumble
Racking my head with pain.