 | A merry-go-round of song |  |
82
PERFECT PUPILS
Your alphabet, Priscilla,
Extends from A to Z.
The snowdrop isn't nearly
So bothered in her head!
But yet she bends her bonnet
Above a desk of earth,
And always looks too busy
For such a thing as mirth.
Extends from A to Z.
The snowdrop isn't nearly
So bothered in her head!
But yet she bends her bonnet
Above a desk of earth,
And always looks too busy
For such a thing as mirth.
I'm very fond, Priscilla,
Of flowers that never blink
At what the sun keeps writing
So fast with golden ink;
But more I love to notice
The blooms that seem too shy
To read with upturned faces
The grammar of the sky.
Of flowers that never blink
At what the sun keeps writing
So fast with golden ink;
But more I love to notice
The blooms that seem too shy
To read with upturned faces
The grammar of the sky.
Each tiny snowdrop scholar
Beside our wooden fence
Deserves to win a medal
To-day for diligence.
Constantia isn't saucy,
And Mercy isn't bold,
And Patience isn't crying
Because her feet are cold!
Beside our wooden fence
Deserves to win a medal
To-day for diligence.
Constantia isn't saucy,
And Mercy isn't bold,
And Patience isn't crying
Because her feet are cold!
83
But each of them is looking
As if she hasn't yet
Had time enough to master
Her little alphabet.
She therefore bends her bonnet
Above a desk of earth,
And looks a world too busy
For such a thing as mirth!
As if she hasn't yet
Had time enough to master
Her little alphabet.
She therefore bends her bonnet
Above a desk of earth,
And looks a world too busy
For such a thing as mirth!
| A merry-go-round of song | |