Rhymes and jingles by Mary Mapes Dodge | ||
14
The Pensive Cricket.
One cold November morning,
All gay companions scorning,
A pensive cricket sought
In melancholy thought
His woes to stifle.
“Alas! alas!” cried he,
“Ah woe, ah woe is me!
I really do not see
Why I should be
So melan-melancholy. Ah me!
Let's see.”
All gay companions scorning,
A pensive cricket sought
In melancholy thought
His woes to stifle.
“Alas! alas!” cried he,
“Ah woe, ah woe is me!
I really do not see
Why I should be
So melan-melancholy. Ah me!
Let's see.”
He thought, and thought, and thought,—
That cricket did.
“It is not love nor care,
That fills me with despair.
My chirp is sharp and sweet,
And nimble are my feet;
My appetite is good,
And bountiful my food;
My coat is smooth and bright;
My wings are free and light,—
Then ah, and oh, ah me!
What can the matter be?”
Long time the cricket sighed,
And muttered low: “Confound it!”
Then joyfully he cried:
“Eureka! Oh, Eureka!”
By which he meant, “I've found it”—
The learned little shrieker.
“It is—ah well-a-day!
Because my girl's away,
My nimble, dimble Dolly,
My cheery, deary Polly.
Oh, queen of little girls!
I like her sunny curls;
I like her eyes and hair,
Her funny little stare,
Her way of jumping quick
Whene'er she hears me click.
She's loving and she's neat,
She's spry and true and sweet;
And though I caper free,
She never steps on me.
That cricket did.
“It is not love nor care,
That fills me with despair.
My chirp is sharp and sweet,
And nimble are my feet;
My appetite is good,
And bountiful my food;
My coat is smooth and bright;
My wings are free and light,—
Then ah, and oh, ah me!
What can the matter be?”
15
And muttered low: “Confound it!”
Then joyfully he cried:
“Eureka! Oh, Eureka!”
By which he meant, “I've found it”—
The learned little shrieker.
“It is—ah well-a-day!
Because my girl's away,
My nimble, dimble Dolly,
My cheery, deary Polly.
Oh, queen of little girls!
I like her sunny curls;
I like her eyes and hair,
Her funny little stare,
Her way of jumping quick
Whene'er she hears me click.
She's loving and she's neat,
She's spry and true and sweet;
And though I caper free,
She never steps on me.
“Kee-nick! kee-nick!
Ker-tick! a-tick!
And now the thought has come,
To-morrow she'll be home!
My Polly, Polly, Polly,
My nimble, dimble Dolly!
I'll dance to-night
In the bright moonlight,
To-morrow I'll see Polly!—
Tra la! How very jolly!”
Ker-tick! a-tick!
And now the thought has come,
To-morrow she'll be home!
My Polly, Polly, Polly,
My nimble, dimble Dolly!
I'll dance to-night
In the bright moonlight,
16
Tra la! How very jolly!”
Next night the house with pleasure rang;
For Polly-girl had come;
The cricket on the hearthstone sang,
And home once more was home.
For Polly-girl had come;
The cricket on the hearthstone sang,
And home once more was home.
Rhymes and jingles by Mary Mapes Dodge | ||