Little sister, come away,
And let us in the garden play,
For it is a pleasant day.
On the grass-plat let us sit,
Or, if you please, we'll play a bit,
And run about all over it.
But the fruit we will not pick,
For that would be a naughty trick,
And very likely make us sick.
Nor will we pluck the pretty flowers
That grow about the beds and bowers,
Because you know they are not ours.
[Illustration]
We'll take the daisies, white and red,
Because mamma has often said
That we may gather them instead.
And much I hope we always may
Our very dear mamma obey,
And mind whatever she may say.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]