Taking a turn after tea
Through orchards of Mirabellea,
Where clusters of yellow and red
Dangled and glowed overhead,
Who should I see
But old Timothy,
Hale and hearty as hearty can be —
Timothy under the crab-apple tree.

His blue eyes twinkling at me,
Munching and crunching with glee,
And wagging his wicked old head,
I've still got a sweet-tooth , he said —
A hundred and three
Come January,
I've one tooth left in my head , said he,
Timothy under the crab-apple tree.