Читать книгу The Nursery, July 1873, Vol. XIV. No. 1 - Various - Страница 4

My clothes-pins are but kitchen-folk,

Unpainted, wooden, small;

And for six days in every week

Are of no use at all.

But when a breezy Monday comes,

And all my clothes are out,

And want with every idle wind

To go and roam about,

Oh! if I had no clothes-pins then,

What would become of me,

When roving towels, mounting shirts,

I everywhere should see!

"I mean," a flapping sheet begins,

"To rise and soar away."

"We mean," the clothes-pins answer back,

"You on this line shall stay."

"Oh, let me!" pleads a handkerchief,

"Across the garden fly."

"Not while I've power to keep you here,"

A clothes-pin makes reply.

So, fearlessly I hear the wind

Across the clothes-yard pass,

And shed the apple-blossoms down

Upon the flowering grass.

The clothes may dance upon the line,

And flutter to and fro:

My faithful clothes-pins hold them fast,

And will not let them go.

My clothes-pins are but kitchen-folk,

Unpainted, wooden, small;

And for six days in every week

Are of no use at all.

But still, in every listening ear,

Their praises I will tell;

For all that they profess to do

They do, and do it well.