Part 25 (2/2)

(Swinging oh!)

You should wear a satin gown (Swinging high, swinging low,) All with ribbons falling down; (Swinging oh!) And your little darling feet, Oh, my Pretty and my Sweet, Should be shod with silver neat,-- (Swinging high, swinging low,) Shod with silver slippers neat.

(Swinging oh!)

All the flowers in the land (Swinging high, swinging low,) You should hold in either hand; (Swinging oh!) And the myrtle and the rose Should spring up beneath your toes, For to gratify your nose,-- (Swinging high, swinging low,) For to gratify your nose.

(Swinging oh!)

But I'm not a fairy, Pet, (Swinging high, swinging low,) Am not even a king as yet; (Swinging oh!) So all that I can do Is to kiss your little shoe, And to make a queen of you,-- (Swinging high, swinging low,) Make a fairy queen of you.

(Swinging oh!)

BETTY IN BLOSSOM-TIME.

Snow, snow, down from the apple-trees, Pink and white drifting of petals sweet, Kiss her and crown her, our Lady of Blossoming, Here as she sits on the apple-tree seat.

Has she not gathered the summer about her?

Look, how it laughs from her lips and her eyes!

Think you the sun there would s.h.i.+ne on without her?

Nay! 'tis her smile keeps the gray from the skies.

Fire of the rose and snow of the jessamine, Gold of the lily-dust hid in her hair; Day holds his breath and Night comes up to look at her, Leaving their strife for a vision so rare.

Snow, snow, down from the apple-trees, Pink and white drifting of petals sweet, Kiss her and crown her, and flutter a-down her, And carpet the ground for her dear little feet.

BETTY'S SONG.

Little Two-shoes, Little Toddle-toes, Like a little pretty pinky winky rose, Come to me, now, And we'll see, now, How the rocking-chair away to By-land goes.

With a heigh ho, And a by-low, And a swinging, swinging softly to and fro; With a sleepy croon, All about the moon, How she puts the sleepy stars to beddy oh!

With a hey-day, And a rock-away, And a patting down the hands that want to play; With a swing swong In the drowsy song, That forgets the drowsy words it has to say.

Now the lids close, Just when no one knows, And the dimpled flush grows deeper, rose on rose.

Little Two-shoes, Little Toddle-toes, With the rocking-chair away to By-land goes.

A NONSENSE TRAGEDY.

Brown owl sat on a caraway tree, Ruffly, puffly, great big owl; Who so learned and wise as he?

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