Page:Juvenile Forget Me Not 1837.pdf/6



You do not like the streamlet, That runs so clear and bright; I scarcely think it water, It looks so much like light.

Some white, and others purple, The pebbles glitter through; I can’t pick up those pebbles, If I must carry you.

There are such lovely wild-flowers Amid the tangled grass; The little deep-blue bird’s eye Looks at me as I pass.

But they must stay ungathered, Though the very air is sweet, Because my sad spoilt Fanchette Dislikes to wet her feet,

Half laughing, half complaining On went the dark-eyed girl, While the soft warm airs of summer Played amid each bright brown curl.

The dog was carried over, Her own feet wet and bare, But of that the little rustic Took neither cold nor care.

’Twas a sweet and natural lesson For woman, ay, or man, Of every slight disaster To make the best you can.