"I'D GIVE YOU A ROSE."
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Holloa!
What's the matter?
Why this bustle,
Noise and clatter?
Mercy on us!
Don't you know
Little Pipkin's
Stubbed his toe!
What's that?
Some one knocks.
How the wind
Shakes the locks!
Run, quick!
How absurd—
Only a beggar,
Upon my word!
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AN APRIL MAIDEN.
Were you ever heavy-hearted, little May?
She tossed her pretty head,
As right merrily she said,
"Heavy hearted? No, not I;
Yet a little makes me cry,
And a little less than half
Makes me laugh—
My mother often calls me 'April Day.'"
Were you ever very happy, little May?
Again she shook her head.
"I do not know," she said.
"Very happy? Who is so?
Not a single soul, you know;
Mother often tells me this,
With a kiss;
Our life, she says, is like an April day."
Were you ever very naughty, little May?
She flushed a rosy red,
As, right saucily, she said,
"Very naughty? Let me see:
Why, I have been bad—for me;
I have trod on, Pussy's toes,
And I've torn my Sunday clo'es;
And, oh!—now, don't you tell!—
I mean to—well,
Fool every one I know on April-day."
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There's a fragrance in the blossom,
But the fruit is better still;
And the river rushes farther
Than ever could the rill.