LITMIR.BIZ

      “To-whit! To-whit! To-whee!

      Will you listen to me?

      Who stole four eggs I laid,

      And the nice nest I made?”

      “Not I,” said the cow, “moo-oo!

      Such a thing I’d never do.

      I gave you a wisp of hay,

      But I did not take your nest away:

      Not I,” said the cow, “moo-oo!

      Such a thing I’d never do.”

      “Bob-o-link! Bob-o-link!

      Now, what do you think?

      Who stole a nest away

      From the plum tree to-day?”

      “Not I,” said the dog, “bow-wow!

      I wouldn’t be so mean, I vow.

      I gave some hairs the nest to make,

      But the nest I did not take.

      Not I,” said the dog, “bow-wow!

      I wouldn’t be so mean, I vow.”

      “Coo-oo! Coo-coo! Coo-coo!

      Let me speak a word or two:

      Who stole that pretty nest,

      From little Yellow-breast?”

      “Not I,” said the sheep; “oh, no,

      I would not treat a poor bird so;

      I gave wool the nest to line,

      But the nest was none of mine.

      Baa! Baa!” said the sheep; “oh no;

      I wouldn’t treat a poor bird so.”

      “Caw! Caw!” cried the crow,

      “I should like to know

      What thief took away

      A bird’s nest to-day.”

      “Cluck! Cluck!” said the hen,

      “Don’t ask me again;

      Why, I haven’t a chick

      Would do such a trick.

      We all gave her a feather,

      And she wove them together.

      I’d scorn to intrude

      On her and her brood.

      Cluck! Cluck!” said the hen,

      “Don’t ask me again.”

      “Chirr-a-whirr! Chirr-a-whirr!

      All the birds make a stir.

      Let us find out his name,

      And all cry, ‘For shame!’”

      “I would not rob a bird!”

      Said little Mary Green,

      “I think I never heard

      Of anything so mean!”

      “It’s very cruel, too,”

      Said little Alice Neal,

      “I wonder if he knew

      How sad the bird would feel.”

      A little boy hung down his head,

      And went and hid behind the bed:

      For he stole that pretty nest

      From little Yellow-Breast;

      And he felt so full of shame

      He did not like to tell his name.

      Two little hands so soft and white,

      This is the left—this is the right.

      Five little fingers stand on each,

      So I can hold a plum or a peach.

      But if I should grow as old as you

      Lots of little things these hands can do.

      O dandelion yellow as gold,

      What do you do all day?

      I just wait here in the tall green grass

      Till the children come to play.

      O dandelion yellow as gold,

      What do you do all night?

      I wait and wait till the cool dews fall

      And my hair grows long and white.

      And what do you do when your hair is white

      And the children come to play?

      They take me up in their dimpled hands

      And blow my hair away.

      A million little diamonds

      Twinkled on the trees;

      And all the little maidens said,

      “A jewel, if you please!”

      But while they held their hands outstretched

      To catch the diamonds gay,

      A million little sunbeams came

      And stole them all away.

      The daisies white are nursery maids with frills upon their caps;

      And daisy buds are little babes they tend upon their laps.

      Sing “Heigh-ho!” while the winds sweep low,

      Both nurses and babies are nodding JUST SO.

      The daisy babies never cry, the nurses never scold;

      They never crush the dainty frills about their cheeks of gold;

      But pure and white, in gay sunlight

      They’re nid-nodding—pretty sight.

      The daisies love the golden sun, upon the clear blue sky,

      He gazes kindly down on them and winks his jolly eye;

      While soft and low, all in a row,

      Both nurses and babies are nodding JUST SO.

      There surely is a gold mine somewhere underneath the grass,

      For dandelions are popping out in every place you pass.

      But if you want to gather some you’d better not delay,

      For the gold will turn to silver soon and all will blow away.

      There are three green eggs in a small brown pocket,

      And the breeze will swing and the gale will rock it,

      Till three little birds on the thin edge teeter,

      And

Скачать книгу