Page 2
Old
Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard,
To
give her poor dog a bone.
But when she got there, her cupboard was bare;
And so the poor dog had none.
She
went to the baker's to buy him some bread;
When
she got back, the
dog was dead.
She
went to the undertaker's to buy him a coffin;
When
she got back, the dog was a-laughing.
She
took him a clean dish to get him some tripe;
When
she came back, he was smoking a pipe.
She
went to the hatter's to buy him a hat;
When
she came back, he was feeding the cat.
She
went to the barber's to buy him a wig;
When
she came back, he was dancing a jig.
She
went to the fruiterer's to buy him some fruit;
When
she came back, he was playing the flute.
She
went to the tailor's to buy him a coat.
When
she came back, he was riding a goat.
She
went to the cobbler's to buy him some shoes;
When
she came back, he was reading the news.
She
went to the seamstress to buy him some linen;
When
she came back, the dog was a-spinning.
She
went to the hosier's to buy him some hose;
When
she came back, he was dressed in his clothes.
The
dame made a curtsy, the dog made a bow;
The
dame said, "Your servant," the dog said, "Bow-wow."
I
wandered lonely as a cloud
That
floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When
all at once I saw a crowd,
A
host, of golden daffodils,
Beside
the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering
and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous
as the stars that shine
And
twinkle on the Milky Way,
They
stretched in never-ending line
Along
the margin of a bay:
Ten
thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing
their heads in sprightly dance.
The
waves beside them danced, but they
Outdid
the sparkling waves in glee;
A
poet could not but be gay
In
such a jocund company.
I
gazed, and gazed, but little thought
What
wealth the show to me had brought:
For
oft, when on my couch I lie
In
vacant or in pensive mood,
They
flash upon that inward eye
Which
is the bliss of solitude;
And
then my heart with pleasure fills,
And
dances with the daffodils.
CURLY
Locks! Curly Locks! wilt thou be mine?
Thou
shalt not wash the dishes, nor yet feed the swine,
But
sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam,
And
feast upon strawberries, sugar and cream.
Curly
Locks! Curly Locks! wilt thou be mine?
The
throb of my heart is in every line,
And
the pulse of a passion as airy and glad
In
its musical beat as the little Prince had!
O
I'll dapple thy hands with these kisses of mine
As
a little pet blush in full blossom for me.
Thou
shalt not wash the dishes, nor yet feed the swine!
But
sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam,
And
thou shalt have fabric as fair as a dream,
The
red of my veins, and the white of my love,
And
feast upon strawberries, sugar and cream
From
a service of silver, with jewels agleam,
At
thy feet will I bide, at thy beck will I rise,
And
twinkle my soul in the night of thy eyes!
Curly
Locks! Curly Locks! wilt thou be mine?
Thou
shalt not wash the dishes, nor yet feed the swine,
But
sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam,
And
feast upon strawberries, sugar and cream.
Won't
you come into the barnyard
Where
the animals are staying?
Can't
you hear the moo-cow mooing
And
the hungry horses neighing,
And
the baby kittens purring
As
the go about their playing?
Oh,
it isn't hard to understand
What
the animals are saying!
Won't
you come into the barnyard
Where
the cock is up and crowing,
Where
the horse is being harnessed
For
the plowing and the sowing,
Where
the duck has started walking
On
his short and waddly legs
To
the millpond; and the biddies
All
are busy laying eggs,
Where
the pigs are taking dust baths
And
the pigeons start their cooing?
Oh,
it's fun to go and see what
All
the animals are doing!
Summer
fading, winter comes -
Frosty
mornings, tingling thumbs,
Window
robins, winter rooks,
And
the picture story-books.
Water
now is turned to stone
Nurse
and I can walk upon;
Still
we find the flowing brooks
In
the picture story-books.
All
the pretty things put by
Wait
upon the children's eye,
Sheep
and shepherds, trees and crooks,
In
the picture story-books.
We
may see how all things are,
Seas
and cities, near and far,
And
the flying fairies' looks,
In
the picture story-books.
How
am I to sing your praise,
Happy
chimney-corner days,
Sitting
safe in nursery nooks,
Reading
picture story-books?
How
do you like to go up in a swing,
Up
in the air so blue?
Oh,
I do think it the pleasantest thing
Ever
a child can do!
Up
in the air and over the wall,
Till
I can see so wide,
Rivers
and trees and cattle and all
Over
the countryside -
Till
I look down on the garden green,
Down
on the roof so brown -
Up
in the air I go flying again,
Up
in the air and down!
Over
in the meadow,
In
the sand in the sun,
Lived
an old mother toadie,
And
her little toadie one,
"Wink!"
said the mother;
"I
wink!" said the one,
So
they winked and they blinked,
In
the sand in the sun.
Over
in the meadow,
Where
the stream runs blue,
Lived
an old mother fish,
And
her little fishes two,
"Swim!"
said the mother;
"We
swim!" said the two,
So
they swam and they leaped,
Where
the stream runs blue.
Over
in the meadow,
In
a hole in a tree,
Lived
an old mother bluebird,
And
her little birdies three,
"Sing!"
said the mother;
"We
sing!" said the three,
So
they sang and were glad,
In
a hole in the tree.
Over
in the meadow,
In
the reeds on the shore,
Lived
an old mother muskrat,
And
her little ratties four,
"Dive!"
said the mother;
"We
dive!" said the four,
So
they dived and they burrowed,
In
the reeds on the shore.
Over
in the meadow,
In
a snug beehive,
Lived
a mother honey bee,
And
her little bees five,
"Buzz!"
said the mother;
"We
buzz!" said the five,
So
they buzzed and they hummed,
In
the snug beehive.
Over
in the meadow,
In
a nest built of sticks,
Lived
a black mother crow,
And
her little crows six,
"Caw!"
said the mother;
"We
caw!" said the six,
So
they cawed and they called,
In
their nest built of sticks.
Over
in the meadow,
Where
the grass is so even,
Lived
a gay mother cricket,
And
her little crickets seven,
"Chirp!"
said the mother;
"We
chirp!" said the seven,
So
they chirped cheery notes,
In
the grass soft and even.
Over
in the meadow,
By
the old mossy gate,
Lived
a brown mother lizard,
And
her little lizards eight,
"Bask!"
said the mother;
"We
bask!" said the eight,
So
they basked in the sun,
On
the old mossy gate.
Over
in the meadow,
Where
the quiet pools shine,
Lived
a green mother frog,
And
her little froggies nine,
"Croak!"
said the mother;
"We
croak!" said the nine,
So
they croaked and they splashed,
Where
the quiet 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 lacy webs,
In
their sly little den.
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