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Indeed I cannot tell,
In poetry or prose,
THE NEW MOON.
DEAR mother, how pretty The moon looks to-night, She was never so cunning before; Her two little horns
Are so sharp and so bright,
I hope she'll not grow any more.
If I were up there
With you and my friends,
Oh, what a bright cradle 'twould be!
I would call to the stars
To keep out of the way,
Lest we should rock over their toes;
And see where the pretty moon goes.
And there we would stay
And through the bright clouds we would roam;
And see the sun rise,
And on the next rainbow come home.
WHICH WAY DOES THE WIND BLOW?
WHICH way does the wind blow,
He rides over water,
He rides over snow;
O'er wood and o'er valley,
He taketh his flight.
In every bare tree,
But whence he both cometh,
THE KITTEN AT PLAY.
SEE the kitten on the wall,
See the kitten, how she starts,
Has it in her power again.
Now she works with three and four,
BUTTERFLIES ARE PRETTY THINGS.
BUTTERFLIES are pretty things,
Softly, softly, girls and boys;
He'll come near us by-and-by; Here he is, don't make a noise,We'll not hurt you, butterfly.
THE daisy is the meekest flower
And when they're pass'd away, again
As if a playful butterfly
The daisy is a hardy plant,
We find it in the shelter'd nooks,
In spring it dots the green with white,