Читать книгу Boys and Girls. The Verses of James W. Foley онлайн

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On the very tip of his tippy-toes;

Nor ever a lad has heard at all

Of follow-my-leader or rude baseball;

It’s much as your life is worth to yell,

The flowers can’t grow for the camphor-smell;

While a big policeman, up and down,

Cries “Sh-h!” through the streets of Nervoustown.

And a little boy, who didn’t know,

Once years and years and years ago,

Gave three loud, lusty cheers one day

For something or other, I can’t say,

And they snipped his head off—Oh! Oh! Oh!

With big, red, rusty shears, you know,

And cloth-bound heads bobbed up and down

With gladness all through Nervoustown.

But, oh, it’s gloomy in Nervoustown,

With the doors tight shut and the blinds all down,

Where the frightened lad his whole life goes

On the very tips of his tippy-toes,

Where the hens don’t cluck and the birds don’t sing,

And even the church bells dare not ring

Lest a cloth-bound head with a terrible frown

Poke out at them from Nervoustown.

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SING a song of hollow logs,