Polly
Brown eyes,
Straight nose;
Dirt pies,
Rumpled clothes;
Torn books,
Spoilt toys;
Arch looks,
Unlike a boy's;
Little rages,
Obvious arts;
(Three her age is,)
Cakes, tarts;
Falling down
Off chairs;
Breaking crown
Down stairs;
Catching flies
On the pane;
Deep sighs,--
Cause not plain.
Bribing you
With kisses
For a few
Farthing blisses;
Wide awake,
As you hear,
"Mercy's sake,
Quiet, dear!"
New shoes,
New frock;
Vague views
Of what's o'clock
When it's time
To go to bed,
And scorn sublime
Of what is said;
Folded hands,
Saying prayers,
Understands
Not, nor cares;
[...] Read more
poem by William Brighty Rands
Added by Poetry Lover
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