Searching for a Friend

Young Girl Holding a Doll  Fritz Zuber Buhler

 A Lost Doll

by Sarah O. Jewett

The sunflowers hang their heavy heads
And wish the sun would shine;
The clouds are gray, the wind is cold.
“Where is that doll of mine?
The dark is coming fast,” said she.
“I’m in a dreadful fright.
I don’t know where I left my doll,
And she’ll be out all night.

“Twice up and down the garden-walks
I looked; but she’s not there.
Oh! yes, I’ve hunted in the hay;
I’ve hunted everywhere.
I must have left her out of doors;
But she is not in sight.
No dolly in the summer-house,
And she’ll be out all night.

“The dew will wet her through and through
And spoil her dear best dress;
And she will wonder where I am
And be in such distress!
The dogs may find her in the grass,
And bark or even bite;
And all the bugs will frighten her
That fly about at night.

“I’ve not been down into the woods
Or by the brook to-day.
I’m sure I had her in my arms
When I came out to play,
Just after dinner; then, I know,
I watched Tom make his kite.
Will anybody steal my doll
If she stays out all night?

“I wonder where Papa has gone?
Why, here he comes; and see!
He’s bringing something in his hand.
That’s Dolly, certainly!
And so you found her in the chaise,
And brought her home all right?
I’ll take her to the baby-house.
I’m glad she’s home to-night.”

Growing Older, but Not Wiser?

Portrait of an Old Man  Adolph von Menzel 

Past and Present 

by Thomas Hood 

I remember, I remember
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day:
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away.

I remember, I remember
The roses, red and white,
The violets, and the lily-cups—
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday,—
The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember
Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then
That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow.

I remember, I remember
The fir trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance;
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from heaven
Than when I was a boy.

The Poor School Boy  Antonio Mancini

from The School Boy 

by William Blake

I love to rise in a summer morn,

When the birds sing on every tree;

The distant huntsman winds his horn,

And the sky-lark sings with me.

O! what sweet company.

But to go to school in a summer morn,

O! it drives all joy away;

Under a cruel eye outworn.

The little ones spend the day,

In sighing and dismay.