When we went down to grandma’s To visit our dearest kin, We asked for grandma’s rag bag That hangs in the garret bin. Oh, grandma’s frugal minded From an old New England day, But you ought to see that rag bag And the things she threw away. There were gloves that had no fingers, And hose of Highland clans; There were petticoats from Paris And Pekin’s painted fans. Our fingers flew at random Like bees at a flower stall, And we found that gown of grandma’s That she wore at the governor’s ball. We carried it down from the garret, The Florentine flounces set; And we made our grandma show us How she danced the minuet. Oh, grandma’s frugal minded, And sometimes her foot goes down, But her riches she puts in the rag bag When we are coming to town. THE FIRST SNOW STORM The very first snow of the year, Mama, And the drifts must be ten feet high; So I’ve come home to get dry, Mama, And this is the reason why: We were on our way from school, Mama, Betty and Margie and Nan, When someone gave us a terrible push And into a drift we ran. And we sat down in the snow, Mama, It wasn’t as cold as you’d think; And we thought we would sit for a while, Mama. And we did, till we grew quite pink. I feel that my shoes are wet, Mama, And I fear the same for my hose: And I fancy I’m rather damp, Mama, Around in my underclothes. SUFFERING I sat down on a bumble bee In Mrs. Jackson’s yard: I sat down on a bumble bee: The bee stung good and hard. I sat down on a bumble bee, For just the briefest spell, And I had only muslin on, As any one could tell. I sat down on a bumble bee, But I arose again; And now I know the tenseness of Humiliating pain. THE MAP MAKERS There was a man who made a map Of all you see at night; He made the moon and all the stars And comets in their flight. He worked for twenty years or more And extra ink he bought, And then he mapped the Milky Way As sort of an afterthought. I read the story to Margaret, She said that it must be true, For she herself could draw a map Of Ocean avenue. She made a dot for Prospect Park, A blot for Sheepshead Bay, And then she ruled a line between To show the right of way. It took her just five minutes just, But I have my private fears, That it isn’t quite up to the moon-man’s map, For it never took twenty years. DIANA Diana, out of Italy, my sister’s protégée, She came to us, with letters, for a little summer stay. Diana, she was beautiful, and yet she made me laugh-- Forever and forever taking one eternal bath. She had lost her bow and arrow, she had lost her lingerie, But she was far from Venice and my sister’s protégée. And because of her distinction, and the wonder of design, Her color and her contour, surpassing any line,