A pin has a head, but has no hair; A clock has a face, but no mouth there Needles have eyes, but they cannot see; A fly has a trunk without lock or key; A timepiece may lose, but cannot win; A corn-field dimples without a chin; A hill has no leg, but has a foot; A wine-glass a stem, but not a root; A watch has hands, but no thumb or finger A boot has a tongue, but is no singer; Rivers run, though they have no feet; A saw has teeth, but it does not eat; Ash-trees have keys, yet never a lock; And baby crows, without being a cock. Hopping frog, hop here and be seen, I’ll not pelt you with stick or stone: Your cap is laced and your coat is green; Good bye, we’ll let each other alone. Plodding toad, plod here and be looked at, You the finger of scorn is crooked at: But though you’re lumpish, you’re harmless too; You won’t hurt me, and I won’t hurt you. Where innocent bright-eyed daisies are, With blades of grass between, Each daisy stands up like a star Out of a sky of green. The city mouse Jives in a house;— The garden mouse lives in a bower, He’s friendly with the frogs and toads, And sees the pretty plants in flower. The city mouse eats bread and cheese;— The garden mouse eats what he can; We will not grudge him seeds and stalks, Poor little timid furry man. What does the donkey bray about? What does the pig grunt through his snout? What does the goose mean by a hiss? Oh, Nurse, if you can tell me this, I’ll give you such a kiss. The cockatoo calls “cockatoo,” The magpie chatters “how d’ye do?” The jackdaw bids me “go away,” Cuckoo cries “cuckoo” half the day: What do the others say? Three plum buns To eat here at the stile In the clover meadow, For we have walked a mile. One for you, and one for me, And one left over: Give it to the boy who shouts To scare sheep from the clover. A motherless soft lambkin Alone upon a hill; No mother’s fleece to shelter him And wrap him from the cold:— I’ll run to him and comfort him, I’ll fetch him, that I will; I’ll care for him and feed him Until he’s strong and bold. Dancing on the hill-tops, Singing in the valleys, Laughing with the echoes, Merry little Alice. Playing games with lambkins In the flowering valleys, Gathering pretty posies, Helpful little Alice. If her father’s cottage Turned into a palace, And he owned the hill-tops And the flowering valleys, She’d be none the happier, Happy little Alice. When fishes set umbrellas up If the rain-drops run, Lizards will want their parasols To shade them from the sun. The peacock has a score of eyes, With which he cannot see; The cod-fish has a silent sound, However that may be; No dandelions tell the time, Although they turn to clocks; Cat’s-cradle does not hold the cat. Nor foxglove fit the fox. Pussy has a whiskered face, Kitty has such pretty ways; Doggie scampers when I call, And has a heart to love us all. The dog lies in his kennel, And Puss purrs on the rug, And baby perches on my knee For me to love and hug.