Page:Field Poems of Childhood.djvu/220



HEN baby wakes of mornings,

Then it's wake, ye people all!

For another day

Of song and play

Has come at our darling's call!

And, till she gets her dinner,

She makes the welkin ring,

And she won't keep still till she's had her fill—

The cunnin' little thing!

When baby goes a-walking,

Oh, how her paddies fly!

For that's the way

The babies say

To other folk "by-by";

The trees bend down to kiss her,

And the birds in rapture sing,

As there she stands and waves her hands—

The cunnin' little thing!