THE BRAVE BROTHER.
I was scared almost to deathWhen I heard my sister BethScreeching loud and crying.But I ran and took a stick,And I tell you, pretty quick,I had taught our goose a trick,And had sent him flying.Girls are always frightened stiff,Just as sister Beth was, ifThat cross, ugly ganderFlies across the garden fence.And they always will commenceScreaming,—’stead of having senseAnd showing out some dander.I made believe, with all my might,He was a dragon, dressed in white,With his fiery red mouth grinning,—Like that one mother read about,That old St. George marched forth and fought,And beat and killed him out and outAlmost in the beginning.And once I heard my father say,“It’s pretty sure to be the way,When you’re awful frightened,If you fight till you’re ’most dead,Bravely, you’ll come out ahead;”But sister told me mother said,“You might,—and then you mightn’t!”
I was scared almost to deathWhen I heard my sister BethScreeching loud and crying.But I ran and took a stick,And I tell you, pretty quick,I had taught our goose a trick,And had sent him flying.Girls are always frightened stiff,Just as sister Beth was, ifThat cross, ugly ganderFlies across the garden fence.And they always will commenceScreaming,—’stead of having senseAnd showing out some dander.I made believe, with all my might,He was a dragon, dressed in white,With his fiery red mouth grinning,—Like that one mother read about,That old St. George marched forth and fought,And beat and killed him out and outAlmost in the beginning.And once I heard my father say,“It’s pretty sure to be the way,When you’re awful frightened,If you fight till you’re ’most dead,Bravely, you’ll come out ahead;”But sister told me mother said,“You might,—and then you mightn’t!”
I was scared almost to deathWhen I heard my sister BethScreeching loud and crying.But I ran and took a stick,And I tell you, pretty quick,I had taught our goose a trick,And had sent him flying.
I was scared almost to death
When I heard my sister Beth
Screeching loud and crying.
But I ran and took a stick,
And I tell you, pretty quick,
I had taught our goose a trick,
And had sent him flying.
Girls are always frightened stiff,Just as sister Beth was, ifThat cross, ugly ganderFlies across the garden fence.And they always will commenceScreaming,—’stead of having senseAnd showing out some dander.
Girls are always frightened stiff,
Just as sister Beth was, if
That cross, ugly gander
Flies across the garden fence.
And they always will commence
Screaming,—’stead of having sense
And showing out some dander.
I made believe, with all my might,He was a dragon, dressed in white,With his fiery red mouth grinning,—Like that one mother read about,That old St. George marched forth and fought,And beat and killed him out and outAlmost in the beginning.
I made believe, with all my might,
He was a dragon, dressed in white,
With his fiery red mouth grinning,—
Like that one mother read about,
That old St. George marched forth and fought,
And beat and killed him out and out
Almost in the beginning.
And once I heard my father say,“It’s pretty sure to be the way,When you’re awful frightened,If you fight till you’re ’most dead,Bravely, you’ll come out ahead;”But sister told me mother said,“You might,—and then you mightn’t!”
And once I heard my father say,
“It’s pretty sure to be the way,
When you’re awful frightened,
If you fight till you’re ’most dead,
Bravely, you’ll come out ahead;”
But sister told me mother said,
“You might,—and then you mightn’t!”
—Lillian Howard Cort.
You’d scarce expect one of my ageTo speak in public or on the stage;And if I chance to fall belowDemosthenes or Cicero,Don’t view me with a critic’s eye,But pass my imperfections by.Large streams from little fountains flow,Tall oaks from little acorns grow.
You’d scarce expect one of my ageTo speak in public or on the stage;And if I chance to fall belowDemosthenes or Cicero,Don’t view me with a critic’s eye,But pass my imperfections by.Large streams from little fountains flow,Tall oaks from little acorns grow.
You’d scarce expect one of my ageTo speak in public or on the stage;And if I chance to fall belowDemosthenes or Cicero,Don’t view me with a critic’s eye,But pass my imperfections by.Large streams from little fountains flow,Tall oaks from little acorns grow.
You’d scarce expect one of my age
To speak in public or on the stage;
And if I chance to fall below
Demosthenes or Cicero,
Don’t view me with a critic’s eye,
But pass my imperfections by.
Large streams from little fountains flow,
Tall oaks from little acorns grow.
—David Everett.