(Red blow the roses, 0 ), so very like when
They only told her from a rose because she
|SHE lifted her finger with gesture slow:
`"'Tis true, for certain and sure, I know,
And I think when I say so you ought to be-
_They kneel in their stalls on Christmas Eve._
"The red one, the white one, the speckled
When the clock strikes twelve, will all kneel
--Well, I'll tell you this, if you _won't_ believe:
I thought I would see for myself, because
The wind was a-blowing, and no moon shone,
_I heard the cows when they knelt down!_ There!"
And his hold was full of sugar, the French-
But when he safely moored his craft beside
Alas, that silly little boy, his cargo he had
|THE mackerel-man drives down the street,
Now the petals will fall that are rarest of all,
The Tree, it doth stand in that marvellous
It tosses its boughs with their crystalling
And never a bird its blossoms has stirred,
For the perfume which floats from the blos-
And my own little bird, were her goldilocks
By the wind thro' its branches which blows,
With her songs silenced all, forever would fall
But our hearth burns bright, little sweetheart,
Thou canst nestle in bed thy little gold head,
`Where the oaken logs that winter night sent
`"Now, what is the thought, Maid Dorothy,
`"Oh, mother! last night I dreamed a dream
`Which they have in the green old England
`And it was not one of the coarse blue socks
`But fine and soft; and, on the sides, some silk-
`"And out of the stocking I pulled a book--
`For it was not a book like this one, but had
`"And I pulled out a doll with real brown hair
`Oh! she truly cried, and she closed her eyes
`But I made up my mind I would always love
`As some in that stocking; of blue and gold
`I could have tied up my hair with them if
`And such fine things will never be in this vain
Why is it the rose-chafer eats not her roses
From the song of the lark till the four-o'clock
Five fierce lily-tigers in spotted cuirasses
|IF we, my deary, were butterflies, with pur-
We would not adore the roses alway, and no-
If we, my baby, were butterflies, with purple
Far away, far away, over land or sea, we would
Y our little coat's old, and the wind blows cold,
"Dear Granny, I've been to the forest to look
Santa Claus is so kind, I thought I would find