I have told the buttercups, truly,
And the clover that grows by the way;
And it pleases me each time, newly,
When I think of it during the day.
And I say to myself: “Little Mary,
You ought to be good as you can,
For the sake of the beautiful fairy
That brought you the wee little man.”
I’m five years old in the summer,
And I’m getting quite large and tall;