And shy-ly peep-ing through the rest,
Poor lit-tle Ro-sa brings her ball.
Placed at the win-dow, day by day,
While pil-lows raise his wea-ry head,
His wist-ful eyes be-hold the play
Which once with joy-ous heart he led.
And in his hand the ball is laid,
And if to fling it is his whim,
The sig-nal is at once obey'd,
With ea-ger feet they run to him.