HOW DOTH THE LITTLE BUSY BEE 41

ISAAC WATTS

ENGLAND, 1674-1748

How doth the Little Busy Bee

How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour,
And gather honey all the day
From every opening flower.

How skilfully she builds her cell;
How neat she spreads her wax,
And labors hard to store it well
With the sweet food she makes.

In works of labor or of skill

I would be busy too;

For Satan finds some mischief still

For idle hands to do.

In books, or work, or healthful play,
Let my first years be passed;
That I may give for every day

Some good account at last.

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CHARLES KINGSLEY

ENGLAND, 1819-1875

The Lost Doll

I once had a sweet little doll, dears,
The prettiest doll in the world;
Her cheeks were so red and so white, dears,
And her hair was so charmingly curled.
But I lost my poor little doll, dears,

As I played on the heath one day;

And I cried for her more than a week, dears,

But I never could find where she lay.

I found my poor little doll, dears,

As I played on the heath one day; Folks say she is terribly changed, dears,

For her paint is all washed away,

And her arm's trodden off by the cows, dears,

And her hair's not the least bit curled; 15 Yet for old time's sake, she is still, dears,

The prettiest doll in the world.

ROBIN REDBREAST

43

WILLIAM ALLINGHAM

IRELAND, 1828-1889

Robin Redbreast

Good-by, good-by to Summer!
For Summer's nearly done;
The garden smiling faintly,
Cool breezes in the sun :

Our Thrushes now are silent,

Our Swallows flown away,

But Robin's here, in coat of brown,

With ruddy breast-knot gay.

Robin, Robin Redbreast,

O Robin dear!

Robin singing sweetly

In the falling of the year.

Bright yellow, red, and orange,
The leaves come down in hosts;
The trees are Indian Princes,

But soon they'll turn to Ghosts;
The scanty pears and apples
Hang russet on the bough,

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It's Autumn, Autumn, Autumn late,

"Twill soon be Winter now. Robin, Robin Redbreast,

O Robin dear!

And welaway! my Robin,
For pinching times are near.

The fireside for the Cricket,

The wheatstack for the Mouse,
When trembling night-winds whistle
And moan all round the house;
The frosty ways like iron,

The branches plumed with snow,
Alas! in Winter, dead and dark,
Where can poor Robin go?
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!

And a crumb of bread for Robin,
His little heart to cheer.

MY BED IS A BOAT

45

CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI

ENGLAND, 1830-1894

O Lady Moon

O Lady Moon, your horns point toward the east:

Shine, be increased;

O Lady Moon, your horns point toward the west:

Wane, be at rest.

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
SCOTLAND, 1850-1894

My Bed is a Boat

My bed is like a little boat;

Nurse helps me in when I embark;
She girds me in my sailor's coat
And starts me in the dark.

At night I go on board and say

"Good night" to all my friends on shore; 10 I shut my eyes and sail away

And see and hear no more.