Page:Field Poems of Childhood.djvu/190

 The rich little lady goes out to ride

With footmen standing up outside,

Yet wishes that, sometimes, after dark

Her father would trundle her in the park;—

That, sometimes, her mother would sing the things

Little Miss Brag says her mother sings

When through the attic window streams

The moonlight full of golden dreams—

"Aha,

Oho!"

Yes, little Miss Brag has much to say

To the rich little lady from over the way;

And yet who knows but from her heart

Often the bitter sighs upstart—

Uprise to lose their burn and sting

In the grace of the tongue that loves to sing

Praise of the treasures all its own!

So I've come to love that treble tone—

"Aha,

Oho!"