To wear on her arm
By night and by day.
When it shines like the sun,
All’s going well;
But when you are bad,
A sharp prick will tell.
Farewell, little girl,
For now we must part.
Make a fairy-box, dear,
Of your own happy heart;
And take out for all
Sweet gifts every day,
Till all the year round
Is like beautiful May.’
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Thistledown in prison sings:
Soft is the summer air;Gayly the wood-birds sing,Flowers are blooming fair.But, deep in the dark, cold rock,Sadly I dwell,Longing for thee, dear friend,Lily-Bell! Lily-Bell!Lily-Bell replies:Through sunlight and summer airI have sought for thee long,Guided by birds and flowers,And now by thy song.Thistledown! Thistledown!O’er hill and dellHither to comfort theeComes Lily-Bell.
‘Dear Grif,
Of beautiful spring flowers;The big red roseIs for your nose,As toward the sky it towers.‘Oh, do not frownUpon this crownOf green pinks and blue geraniumBut think of meWhen this you see,And put it on your cranium.’
In a quiet, pleasant meadow,
Where green old trees their branches waved,And winds went singing by;Where a little brook went ripplingSo musically low,And passing clouds cast shadowsOn the waving grass below;Where low, sweet notes of brooding birdsStole out on the fragrant air,And golden sunlight shone undimmedOn all most fresh and fair;–There bloomed a lovely sisterhoodOf happy little flowers,Together in this…
‘For myself alone, I would not be
I would be trebled twenty times myself;A thousand times more fair,Ten thousand times more rich.’
‘Hello! hello!
It’s lovely and coolOut here in the pool;On a lily-pad floatFor a nice green boat.Here we sit and singIn a pleasant ring;Or leap frog play,In the jolliest way.Our games have begun,Come join in the fun.’
OPPOSITE my chamber window,
High above the city’s tumult,Flocks of doves sit day by day.Shining necks and snowy bosoms,Little rosy, tripping feet,Twinkling eyes and fluttering wings,Cooing voices, low and sweet,-Graceful games and friendly meetings,Do I daily watch and see.For these happy little neighborsAlways seem at peace to be.On my window-ledge, to lure them,Crumbs of bread I often strew,And, behind…