Ah, pretty Lena! why is she weeping?
What has befallen? What is it creeping
All the way, all the way down her pink cheeks?
One little, two little, three little tearies;
One little, two little, three little streaks!
One little, two little, three little brothers
Out on a frolic, chasing each other—
And ever and ever so many more!
Quick, let us catch them—poor little dearies!—
Here in this handkerchief, ere they fall o’er.
Now let us find them. Why, they have hidden!
Perhaps they were fairies that came all unbidden,
And ran away, frightened, when Lena laughed out.
Ha, ha! how she scared them! but very queer is
The change that a laugh can alone bring about.
’TIS THE APPLES.
Little kid,
Frisking kid,
Pretty as a fawn,
Runs to me when I pass
Where he lies in the grass,
At the early dawn.
Little one, pretty pet,
You have not forgotten yet
How the other day I fed
You with apples, rosy-red,
By the garden wall.
’Tis for juicy apples sweet
You are kneeling at my feet,
’Tis the apples you love so—
Apples, and not me, I know,
Oh, not me at all!