Page:General William Booth enters into Heaven, and other poems.djvu/84

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OWN cellar," said the cricket,  "I saw a ball last night In honor of a lady Whose wings were pearly-white. The breath of bitter weather Had smashed the cellar pane: We entertained a drift of leaves And then of snow and rain. But we were dressed for winters And loved to hear it blow In honor of the lady Who makes potatoes grow&mdash; Our guest, the Irish lady, The tiny Irish lady, The fairy Irish lady That makes potatoes grow.

"Potatoes were the waiters, Potatoes were the band, Potatoes were the dancers Kicking up the sand: