The Barefoot Girl: A Parody
To Martha
Happy, happy barefoot girl,
Rounded cheek and auburn curl;
In the pearly dew at morn,
Noddest through the tasseled com.
Thine's a life of blissful joy;
Happiness without alloy;
Deft hands plait a tiny gown,
For each doll that rides to town.
Rippling brook through meadows runs,
Blossoms hail the springtime suns;
Seek'st a nest where cool streams rush,
Speckled eggs of woodland thrush.
Swing'st the rope from rafters high,
Where the swallows flutter by,
See'st the young mouths open wide,
As the mother lights beside.
See'st the red-breast feed its young,
From its bill a worm is hung,
See'st the swallows swiftly dart,
Building nests in nooks apart.
See'st bare feet in piles of sand;
Hat of straw in dimpled hand,
Light winds lift thine auburn curl,
Blessings on thee, barefoot girl!
Blowing bubbles in the air,
Romping careless everywhere,
Throwing dust from open hand,
Then away, at whim's command.
Happy childhood, artless, free,
Let naught mar or shadow thee;
Shun the turbid water's whirl:
Blessings on thee, barefoot girl!
Rounded cheek and auburn curl;
In the pearly dew at morn,
Noddest through the tasseled com.
Thine's a life of blissful joy;
Happiness without alloy;
Deft hands plait a tiny gown,
For each doll that rides to town.
Rippling brook through meadows runs,
Blossoms hail the springtime suns;
Seek'st a nest where cool streams rush,
Speckled eggs of woodland thrush.
Swing'st the rope from rafters high,
Where the swallows flutter by,
See'st the young mouths open wide,
As the mother lights beside.
See'st the red-breast feed its young,
From its bill a worm is hung,
See'st the swallows swiftly dart,
Building nests in nooks apart.
See'st bare feet in piles of sand;
Hat of straw in dimpled hand,
Light winds lift thine auburn curl,
Blessings on thee, barefoot girl!
Blowing bubbles in the air,
Romping careless everywhere,
Throwing dust from open hand,
Then away, at whim's command.
Happy childhood, artless, free,
Let naught mar or shadow thee;
Shun the turbid water's whirl:
Blessings on thee, barefoot girl!
1921
For Martha's Babies
Sleep, my little babies, sleep!
Your mother her vigil will keep.
In your little, frail bed of roses,
You shall dream when the long day closes.
Sleep, my little babies, sleep!
Your mother her vigil will keep.
In your little, frail bed of roses,
You shall dream when the long day closes.
Sleep, my little babies, sleep!
1919
A Nursery Rhyme
O that little trundle bed,
That mother drew from 'neath her own,
That dear little trundle bed!
That mother drew from 'neath her own,
That dear little trundle bed!
Four little legs all painted red;
Four little wooden wheels that squeaked,
'Neath that little trundle bed!
Four little wooden wheels that squeaked,
'Neath that little trundle bed!
Weary feet and aching head;
And mother bending o'er her own,
In that little trundle bed!
And mother bending o'er her own,
In that little trundle bed!
12
