Читать книгу The Janitor's Boy, and Other Poems онлайн

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Where we can live alway.

Oh I’m in love with the janitor’s boy,

He’s busy as he can be;

And down in the cellar he’s making a raft

Out of an old settee.

He’ll carry me off, I know that he will,

For his hair is exceedingly red;

And the only thing that occurs to me

Is to dutifully shiver in bed.

The day that we sail, I shall leave this brief note,

For my parents I hate to annoy:

“I have flown away to an isle in the bay

With the janitor’s red-haired boy.”

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Oh, Roger Jones! Oh, Roger Jones!

Oh, Prince! O, Knight! Ah me!

We used to play at keeping house,

Beneath an old oak tree.

Your hair was red, your eyes were brown,

You had a freckled nose;

You were the father of my dolls,

My husband—I suppose.

Oh, Roger! You were only nine,

And I was half-past eight;

It really was romantic, or

As good, at any rate.

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