Child life: a collection of poems . roggies nine. Croak ! said the mother ; We croak, said the nine :So they croaked, and they plashed. Where the clear pools shine. Over in the meadow, In a sly little den,Lived a gray mother-spider And her little spiders ten.• Spin ! said the mother ; We spin, said the ten :So they spun lace webs In their sly little den. Over in the meadow. In the soft summer even,Lived a mother-fire-fly And her little flies eleven. Shine ! said the mother ; We shine, said the eleven ;So they shone like stars In the soft summer even. Over in the meadow. Where the men dig and d
Child life: a collection of poems . roggies nine. Croak ! said the mother ; We croak, said the nine :So they croaked, and they plashed. Where the clear pools shine. Over in the meadow, In a sly little den,Lived a gray mother-spider And her little spiders ten.• Spin ! said the mother ; We spin, said the ten :So they spun lace webs In their sly little den. Over in the meadow. In the soft summer even,Lived a mother-fire-fly And her little flies eleven. Shine ! said the mother ; We shine, said the eleven ;So they shone like stars In the soft summer even. Over in the meadow. Where the men dig and delve,Lived a wise mother-ant And her little anties twelve, 54 CHILD LIFE. Toil ! said the mother ; We toil, said the twelve :So they toiled, and were wise, Where the men dig and delve. — Olive A. WadsvMrth. WISHING. Ring-ting ! I wish I were a Primrose, A bright yellow Primrose, Ijlowing in the spring I The stooping boughs above me, The wandering bee to love fern and moss to creep across. And the Elm-tree for our kino; [. Nay — stay ! I wish I were an Elm-tree,A great, lofty Elm-tree, with green leaves gay SThe winds would set them dancing,The sun and moonshine glance birds would house among the boughs,And sweetly sing. 0 — no ! I wish I were a Robin, A Robin or a little Wren, everywhere to go ; OUT OF DOORS. &5 Through forest, field, or garden,And ask no leave or pardon,Till winter comes with icy thumbsTo ruffle up our wing ! Well —tell ! Where should I fly go to sleep in the dark wood or dell ? Before a day was over, Home comes the mothers kiss — sweeter this Than any other thing. — William Allingham. STOP, STOP, PRETTY WATER. Stop, stop, pretty water ! Said Mary, one day,To a frolicsome brook. That was running away. You run on so fast! I wish you would stay ;My boat and my flowers You will carry away. But I will run after : Mother says that I may ;For I would know where You are running away. So Mary ran on ; But I have heard say
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Keywords: ., book, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870, booksubjectchildrenspoetry
