Читать книгу The Infant's Delight: Poetry - Unknown - Страница 1

When the win-ter winds are blow-ing,

And we ga-ther glad and gay,

Where the fire its light is throw-ing,

For a mer-ry game at play,

There is none that to my know-ing,—

And I've play-ed at games enough,—

Makes us laugh, and sets us glow-ing

Like a game at Blind-man's Buff.