But what I cannot understand
Is why each paving-stone
Has not a drawing on its face,
Why such a few are done.
Our walks would be much pleasanter,
If all the dullest streets
Were illustrated like a book
And gay as flags or sweets.
Of course a lot would get all smudged
By careless people's tracks,
But some would tread as I do now
Only upon the cracks.
MY nurse declares that sweeps are kind,
Without the slightest inclination
To steal away a well-dressed child
Except by nurse's invitation.
Nurse says that children do not climb
The tall black chimneys any more;
She even says (this must be wrong)
Sweeps enter by the area door.
But I have seen a chimney-sweep
Go whooping up and down our street;
And on his back he had a sack—
I bet with something good to eat.
GREENGROCERS, greengrocers,
In your green shops,
With cabbages and cauliflowers
And tough turnip-tops.
Mother buys daffodils,
And apples for me:
But nurse she buys radishes
To eat with her tea.