PRETTY POLLY PRIMROSE.
Out here papa finds her,
Lifts her tenderly,
Carries her safe home again,—
Never once wakes she.
When the breakfast all is o’er
Polly opes her eyes.
“Surely, mamma, I did dream,”
Says she in surprise,
“That I went out to the Park,
Where the birdies sing.”
Mamma smiles; how can she chide
The winsome little thing!
AMANDA M. DOUGLAS.
