A LITTLE 
 
 «ft BOOK OF POETRY 
 
 FOR CHILDREN. 
 
 PITTSFIELD, MASS. 
 
 E. WERDEN. 
 
 1847. 
 
 j 
 

 M7&* 
 
 asi^t^ , 
 
A LITTLE 
 
 BOOK OF POETRY, 
 
 FOR CHILDREN. 
 
 The only trap we wish to, see 
 
 Is one to catch the mind, 
 Knowledge the tempting bait should 
 be, 
 
 And all a bit should find. 
 
 PITTSFIELD, MASS ! 
 
 PUBLISHED BY E. WERDEN. 
 
 1847. 
 
The cock who soundly sleeps at night* 
 Rises with the morning light, 
 Very loud and shrill he crows, 
 Then the sleeping plowman know0> 
 He must leave his bed also, 
 To his morning work to go. 
 And the little lark does fly s 
 To the middle of the sky* 
 
 
The Owl. 
 
 When the sun is in the west, 
 The owl leaves his darksome aest ; 
 Wide he opens his staring eyes, 
 And screams as round and round he 
 
 flieg ; 
 For he kates the cheerful light, 
 He sleeps by day, and wakes at sight, 
 But I will lay my little head f 
 Down upon my pleasant bed. 
 
•^v 
 
 Riddle. 
 
 My head is white, 
 
 My body isli^ht, 
 With cords I am faced around 
 
 I am beaten with sticks, 
 
 But not for bad tricks, 
 But to animate by my sound. 
 
Jenny good spinner, 
 Come down to your dinner, 
 
 And taste tne leg of a frog. 
 Then all you good people, 
 Look over the steeple, 
 
 And see the cat play with the dog, 
 
The 
 
 Fish. 
 
 D* ar mother said a little 
 
 Pray is not that a fly, 
 Vm very hungry, and I wish 
 
 You'd let me go and try. 
 
 Sweet Innocent the mother criedj 
 And startled from her nook, 
 
 That horrid fly is put to hide 
 The iharpneis of the hook. 
 
 
 L 
 
The Kite. 
 
 No head, nor eyes, nor wings have I, 
 And yet I mount up far on hi gh ; 
 A tail I have, my flight to guide, 
 Which is my beauty, boast and pride, 
 A prisoner keep me ; for if free, 
 Pm rarely seen again by thee ; 
 And if I were, my tattered state, 
 For rae your value would abate. 
 
8 
 
 Riddle* 
 
 I fly to many foreign parts, 
 
 Assisted by my spreading wings ; 
 
 My body holds a hundred hearts- 
 Nay,! will tell you stranger things. 
 
 When I am not in haste, I ride, 
 And then I mend my pace anon ; 
 
 Fire oft issues trom my side — 
 Y* yankee youths, this addle con. 
 
VMpq 
 
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