Page:Field Poems of Childhood.djvu/28

 The protestations of the drum

I am convinced are hollow;

When once distressing times should come,

How soon would ruin follow!

Yet all in vain the Dresden boy

From yonder mantel woos her;

A mania for that vulgar toy,

The noisy drum, imbues her!

In vain I wheel her to and fro,

And reason with her mildly,—

Her waxen tears in torrents flow,

Her sawdust heart beats wildly.

I'm sure that when I'm big and tall,

And wear long trailing dresses,

I sha'n't encourage beaux at all

Till mama acquiesces;

Our choice will be a suitor then

As pretty as this vase is,—

Oh, how we'll hate the noisy men

With whiskers on their faces!