Читать книгу The Infant's Delight: Poetry - Unknown - Страница 10

Cold win-ter has come,

And the cru-el winds blow—

The trees are all leaf-less and brown;

These two pret-ty rob-ins,

Oh, where shall they go

To shel-ter their lit-tle brown heads from the snow?

Just look at the flakes com-ing down.

But see, they have found a snug shel-ter at last,

And hark, how they talk, while the storm whis-tles past:

Says Pol-ly to Dick-y,

"You're near-est the door,

And you are the gen-tle-man, too:

Just peep out and see

When the storm will be o'er;

Be-cause, if the wea-ther's as bad as be-fore,

I think we will stay, do not you?"