Sure, it is a wondrous country
    Where the beanstalks grow apace,
And so very near the moon is
    You could almost stroke her face.

And the dwellers in that country
    Hold in such esteem their King,
They believe that if he chooses
    He can do—just anything!

And, although his regal stature
    May be only four-feet-ten,
Think him tallest, strongest, bravest,
    Noblest, wisest, best of men.

Ah, how fondly I remember
    The good time serene and fair,
In the bygone years when I, too,
    Was a reigning monarch there!

But my subjects they discrowned me
    When they’d older, colder, grown;
And they took away my sceptre,
    And upset my royal throne.

Yet, although a King in Exile,
    Without subjects to command,
I am glad at heart to think I
    Once was King of Babyland.