Rhymes of a Child's World by Miriam Clark Potter - HTML preview

 THE DOLLS

I take them up at morning, and I put them down at night,

The large one, and the small one, and the rest;

The one that came from London-town, the one from bright Japan,

The pretty Paris lady with the fluffy feather fan,

And the weary, dreary one I love the best;

I take them up with smiling, and I put them down with sighs,

And I smooth their hair with loving and with pride,

When I put them in the cradle, at the paling of the skies,

I sing my very softest at their side.

O, a boy may have a fife and gun, a boy may have a drum,

A boy may have a helmet with a plume;

And a boy may go a-marching all around the house with shouts,

And set the echoes ringing in a room;

But dolls were made for girls, I guess, and here before the fire,

I rock them, rock them, rock them to their rest;

The one that came from London-town, the one from bright Japan,

The pretty Paris lady with the fluffy feather fan,

The nodding one that shuts its eyes as sleepy babies can,

And the weary, dreary one I love the best.