LITTLE FLORENCE.
O Florence, little Florence,With your face so bonny-bright,With your hair so full of sunshine,With your eyes so full of light,With your head so full of frolic,With your heart so full of love,If you could only tell me,Could tell me, pretty dove!Do the little laughing cherubsSlide down the moonbeams white,And whisper funny stories,And talk to you all night?—The funny bits of balladsYou babble now and then,In a sweeter, softer languageThan other mortals ken.Do they joke and jest so gleeful,From set of sun till dawn,That you lie and crow and giggleLong after they are gone?Do they always bring two dewy,Fresh pieces of the sky,And lift your lashes softlyAnd slip them under sly?Do they pinch your cheeks a trifle,To make the roses blow?Do they punch your chubby fingers,To make the dimples grow?Do they show you sights of mischief,All sorts of things to do(Just to keep a body busy,And the world from getting “blue”)?Do they tickle you at table,And tempt you to a spree(Just to shake the mental cobwebs)When the Parson’s in to tea?Do they pity the canary,And come to you and say,’Tis weary of its prisonAnd wants to get away?Do they hint the budding callaIs bold enough to bloom,If some one isn’t carefulTo pluck it pretty soon?Do they tell you on which bushesGrows “de bestest zinzerbread”?That how to get new dolliesIs to smash the old one’s head?Do they teach you model methodsFor enslaving humankind—The way to rule the fatherAnd to make the mother mind?And to keep all of us people,Who live across the street,Forever on the listenFor the tinkling of your feet?Alas! ere you can answer,I’m very much in fearThe cherubs will have finishedA-whispering in your ear.’Tis cloudy April weather,There’s a chill in all the air,And over in the windowI see the golden hair.Somebody must stay indoorsFor fear of catching cold;And it’s “defful” tiresome businessFor little Three-years-old.But the whole town remembersHow, not six months agone,All round the house the curtainsWere ever closely drawn,And where erewhile the door-bellIts frequent summons rang,Was pinned a penciled notice,To hush the piercing clang.For little, little FlorenceAmong the shadows lay,In fever, moaning, tossing,The livelong night and day.And oft was asked the question,“Is she any better now?”With a choking and a tremorOne couldn’t help, somehow.Butshedoes not remember,Of course—the blithesome heart.See! she has donned her “yiding-hood,”All ready for a start.And—now! quick, no one watching,Down, down the walk she flies—And Betsy rushing after,With a twinkle in her eyes.Ha! let us see you catch her—The wee Red Riding-hood!A flash of scarlet lightning;She’s in a racing mood.Quick, o’er the muddy crossing(The dainty buttoned shoes!)Quick, quick, around the corner—Ah, she begins to lose!And—now!—the race is over.You little midget, you!To laugh such bubbling laughter,The other must laugh too.And now the door closed on her,As yesterday, no doubt—“Mamma must haf to lock it,Or some peoplesvillget out.”Once, left alone a moment,They couldn’t find the child;And the father’s face was ghastly,And the mother—she went wild.Nor here, nor there, the missing;The neighbors, looking out,Saw all the household flyingPromiscuously about,And joined the search, in terror,And hurried to and fro;“Oh! where—oh! where is Florence?Does anybody know?”“O Florence! Florence! Florence!”There came a little squealFrom pony Prince’s manger—“I be here in de meal.”The darling! may kind HeavenPreserve her safe and sound!For her ways defy conjecture,And her plans—they are profound.But bless the little cherubsWho ride the moonbeams white,And come to her a-cooing,A-cooing all the night!Who come to her with manna—The melting music-mirthShe scatters in her pathway,To gladden all the earth.And bless the little Florence,With her face so bonny-bright,With her hair so full of sunshine,With her eyes so full of light!Aye, bless you, little sunbeam!Shine on a good long while!The world will be the betterFor the ripple in your smile!
O Florence, little Florence,With your face so bonny-bright,With your hair so full of sunshine,With your eyes so full of light,With your head so full of frolic,With your heart so full of love,If you could only tell me,Could tell me, pretty dove!Do the little laughing cherubsSlide down the moonbeams white,And whisper funny stories,And talk to you all night?—The funny bits of balladsYou babble now and then,In a sweeter, softer languageThan other mortals ken.Do they joke and jest so gleeful,From set of sun till dawn,That you lie and crow and giggleLong after they are gone?Do they always bring two dewy,Fresh pieces of the sky,And lift your lashes softlyAnd slip them under sly?Do they pinch your cheeks a trifle,To make the roses blow?Do they punch your chubby fingers,To make the dimples grow?Do they show you sights of mischief,All sorts of things to do(Just to keep a body busy,And the world from getting “blue”)?Do they tickle you at table,And tempt you to a spree(Just to shake the mental cobwebs)When the Parson’s in to tea?Do they pity the canary,And come to you and say,’Tis weary of its prisonAnd wants to get away?Do they hint the budding callaIs bold enough to bloom,If some one isn’t carefulTo pluck it pretty soon?Do they tell you on which bushesGrows “de bestest zinzerbread”?That how to get new dolliesIs to smash the old one’s head?Do they teach you model methodsFor enslaving humankind—The way to rule the fatherAnd to make the mother mind?And to keep all of us people,Who live across the street,Forever on the listenFor the tinkling of your feet?Alas! ere you can answer,I’m very much in fearThe cherubs will have finishedA-whispering in your ear.’Tis cloudy April weather,There’s a chill in all the air,And over in the windowI see the golden hair.Somebody must stay indoorsFor fear of catching cold;And it’s “defful” tiresome businessFor little Three-years-old.But the whole town remembersHow, not six months agone,All round the house the curtainsWere ever closely drawn,And where erewhile the door-bellIts frequent summons rang,Was pinned a penciled notice,To hush the piercing clang.For little, little FlorenceAmong the shadows lay,In fever, moaning, tossing,The livelong night and day.And oft was asked the question,“Is she any better now?”With a choking and a tremorOne couldn’t help, somehow.Butshedoes not remember,Of course—the blithesome heart.See! she has donned her “yiding-hood,”All ready for a start.And—now! quick, no one watching,Down, down the walk she flies—And Betsy rushing after,With a twinkle in her eyes.Ha! let us see you catch her—The wee Red Riding-hood!A flash of scarlet lightning;She’s in a racing mood.Quick, o’er the muddy crossing(The dainty buttoned shoes!)Quick, quick, around the corner—Ah, she begins to lose!And—now!—the race is over.You little midget, you!To laugh such bubbling laughter,The other must laugh too.And now the door closed on her,As yesterday, no doubt—“Mamma must haf to lock it,Or some peoplesvillget out.”Once, left alone a moment,They couldn’t find the child;And the father’s face was ghastly,And the mother—she went wild.Nor here, nor there, the missing;The neighbors, looking out,Saw all the household flyingPromiscuously about,And joined the search, in terror,And hurried to and fro;“Oh! where—oh! where is Florence?Does anybody know?”“O Florence! Florence! Florence!”There came a little squealFrom pony Prince’s manger—“I be here in de meal.”The darling! may kind HeavenPreserve her safe and sound!For her ways defy conjecture,And her plans—they are profound.But bless the little cherubsWho ride the moonbeams white,And come to her a-cooing,A-cooing all the night!Who come to her with manna—The melting music-mirthShe scatters in her pathway,To gladden all the earth.And bless the little Florence,With her face so bonny-bright,With her hair so full of sunshine,With her eyes so full of light!Aye, bless you, little sunbeam!Shine on a good long while!The world will be the betterFor the ripple in your smile!
O Florence, little Florence,With your face so bonny-bright,With your hair so full of sunshine,With your eyes so full of light,
O Florence, little Florence,
With your face so bonny-bright,
With your hair so full of sunshine,
With your eyes so full of light,
With your head so full of frolic,With your heart so full of love,If you could only tell me,Could tell me, pretty dove!
With your head so full of frolic,
With your heart so full of love,
If you could only tell me,
Could tell me, pretty dove!
Do the little laughing cherubsSlide down the moonbeams white,And whisper funny stories,And talk to you all night?—
Do the little laughing cherubs
Slide down the moonbeams white,
And whisper funny stories,
And talk to you all night?—
The funny bits of balladsYou babble now and then,In a sweeter, softer languageThan other mortals ken.
The funny bits of ballads
You babble now and then,
In a sweeter, softer language
Than other mortals ken.
Do they joke and jest so gleeful,From set of sun till dawn,That you lie and crow and giggleLong after they are gone?
Do they joke and jest so gleeful,
From set of sun till dawn,
That you lie and crow and giggle
Long after they are gone?
Do they always bring two dewy,Fresh pieces of the sky,And lift your lashes softlyAnd slip them under sly?
Do they always bring two dewy,
Fresh pieces of the sky,
And lift your lashes softly
And slip them under sly?
Do they pinch your cheeks a trifle,To make the roses blow?Do they punch your chubby fingers,To make the dimples grow?
Do they pinch your cheeks a trifle,
To make the roses blow?
Do they punch your chubby fingers,
To make the dimples grow?
Do they show you sights of mischief,All sorts of things to do(Just to keep a body busy,And the world from getting “blue”)?
Do they show you sights of mischief,
All sorts of things to do
(Just to keep a body busy,
And the world from getting “blue”)?
Do they tickle you at table,And tempt you to a spree(Just to shake the mental cobwebs)When the Parson’s in to tea?
Do they tickle you at table,
And tempt you to a spree
(Just to shake the mental cobwebs)
When the Parson’s in to tea?
Do they pity the canary,And come to you and say,’Tis weary of its prisonAnd wants to get away?
Do they pity the canary,
And come to you and say,
’Tis weary of its prison
And wants to get away?
Do they hint the budding callaIs bold enough to bloom,If some one isn’t carefulTo pluck it pretty soon?
Do they hint the budding calla
Is bold enough to bloom,
If some one isn’t careful
To pluck it pretty soon?
Do they tell you on which bushesGrows “de bestest zinzerbread”?That how to get new dolliesIs to smash the old one’s head?
Do they tell you on which bushes
Grows “de bestest zinzerbread”?
That how to get new dollies
Is to smash the old one’s head?
Do they teach you model methodsFor enslaving humankind—The way to rule the fatherAnd to make the mother mind?
Do they teach you model methods
For enslaving humankind—
The way to rule the father
And to make the mother mind?
And to keep all of us people,Who live across the street,Forever on the listenFor the tinkling of your feet?
And to keep all of us people,
Who live across the street,
Forever on the listen
For the tinkling of your feet?
Alas! ere you can answer,I’m very much in fearThe cherubs will have finishedA-whispering in your ear.
Alas! ere you can answer,
I’m very much in fear
The cherubs will have finished
A-whispering in your ear.
’Tis cloudy April weather,There’s a chill in all the air,And over in the windowI see the golden hair.
’Tis cloudy April weather,
There’s a chill in all the air,
And over in the window
I see the golden hair.
Somebody must stay indoorsFor fear of catching cold;And it’s “defful” tiresome businessFor little Three-years-old.
Somebody must stay indoors
For fear of catching cold;
And it’s “defful” tiresome business
For little Three-years-old.
But the whole town remembersHow, not six months agone,All round the house the curtainsWere ever closely drawn,
But the whole town remembers
How, not six months agone,
All round the house the curtains
Were ever closely drawn,
And where erewhile the door-bellIts frequent summons rang,Was pinned a penciled notice,To hush the piercing clang.
And where erewhile the door-bell
Its frequent summons rang,
Was pinned a penciled notice,
To hush the piercing clang.
For little, little FlorenceAmong the shadows lay,In fever, moaning, tossing,The livelong night and day.
For little, little Florence
Among the shadows lay,
In fever, moaning, tossing,
The livelong night and day.
And oft was asked the question,“Is she any better now?”With a choking and a tremorOne couldn’t help, somehow.
And oft was asked the question,
“Is she any better now?”
With a choking and a tremor
One couldn’t help, somehow.
Butshedoes not remember,Of course—the blithesome heart.See! she has donned her “yiding-hood,”All ready for a start.
Butshedoes not remember,
Of course—the blithesome heart.
See! she has donned her “yiding-hood,”
All ready for a start.
And—now! quick, no one watching,Down, down the walk she flies—And Betsy rushing after,With a twinkle in her eyes.
And—now! quick, no one watching,
Down, down the walk she flies—
And Betsy rushing after,
With a twinkle in her eyes.
Ha! let us see you catch her—The wee Red Riding-hood!A flash of scarlet lightning;She’s in a racing mood.
Ha! let us see you catch her—
The wee Red Riding-hood!
A flash of scarlet lightning;
She’s in a racing mood.
Quick, o’er the muddy crossing(The dainty buttoned shoes!)Quick, quick, around the corner—Ah, she begins to lose!
Quick, o’er the muddy crossing
(The dainty buttoned shoes!)
Quick, quick, around the corner—
Ah, she begins to lose!
And—now!—the race is over.You little midget, you!To laugh such bubbling laughter,The other must laugh too.
And—now!—the race is over.
You little midget, you!
To laugh such bubbling laughter,
The other must laugh too.
And now the door closed on her,As yesterday, no doubt—“Mamma must haf to lock it,Or some peoplesvillget out.”
And now the door closed on her,
As yesterday, no doubt—
“Mamma must haf to lock it,
Or some peoplesvillget out.”
Once, left alone a moment,They couldn’t find the child;And the father’s face was ghastly,And the mother—she went wild.
Once, left alone a moment,
They couldn’t find the child;
And the father’s face was ghastly,
And the mother—she went wild.
Nor here, nor there, the missing;The neighbors, looking out,Saw all the household flyingPromiscuously about,
Nor here, nor there, the missing;
The neighbors, looking out,
Saw all the household flying
Promiscuously about,
And joined the search, in terror,And hurried to and fro;“Oh! where—oh! where is Florence?Does anybody know?”
And joined the search, in terror,
And hurried to and fro;
“Oh! where—oh! where is Florence?
Does anybody know?”
“O Florence! Florence! Florence!”There came a little squealFrom pony Prince’s manger—“I be here in de meal.”
“O Florence! Florence! Florence!”
There came a little squeal
From pony Prince’s manger—
“I be here in de meal.”
The darling! may kind HeavenPreserve her safe and sound!For her ways defy conjecture,And her plans—they are profound.
The darling! may kind Heaven
Preserve her safe and sound!
For her ways defy conjecture,
And her plans—they are profound.
But bless the little cherubsWho ride the moonbeams white,And come to her a-cooing,A-cooing all the night!
But bless the little cherubs
Who ride the moonbeams white,
And come to her a-cooing,
A-cooing all the night!
Who come to her with manna—The melting music-mirthShe scatters in her pathway,To gladden all the earth.
Who come to her with manna—
The melting music-mirth
She scatters in her pathway,
To gladden all the earth.
And bless the little Florence,With her face so bonny-bright,With her hair so full of sunshine,With her eyes so full of light!
And bless the little Florence,
With her face so bonny-bright,
With her hair so full of sunshine,
With her eyes so full of light!
Aye, bless you, little sunbeam!Shine on a good long while!The world will be the betterFor the ripple in your smile!
Aye, bless you, little sunbeam!
Shine on a good long while!
The world will be the better
For the ripple in your smile!