Snickerty Nick
think beauty is only skin deep, fit for women and peacocks. But what is this? A dandelion? I must have been picking flowers in my sleep.
I love to sleep-walk in a dell,
To gather flowers and whistle—
But O, I woke up with a yell
The night I picked a thistle.
I dreamed I kissed a little girl
As pretty as my sister—
But O, she had long finger-nails
And scratched me when I kissed her.
Some people are like thistle-tops;
They beckon and divert you,
And look at you with friendly looks
And smile at you—and hurt you.
[The garden being now full of flowers, little children peep through the gate and call, pelting the Dwarf with blossoms.]
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