Nursery Idyls

A little sigh, a little shiver—
  And that means liver.
A little liver when June is nigh, 
  And then we die.

Daffodils in English fields 
  And breezes in the clover;
But here's a sun would strike you dead 
  Seven times over!

Cook's tourist comes and goes— 
  He is but a rover,
While I watch the burning sun 
  Turn over and over.

And I dream of daffodils 
  And the breezy clover; 
Turning on my little bed,
  Over and over.

In England elm-leaves fall
  When winter winds blow keen, 
But the Indian pipâl
  Is always gay and green.

Ne'er in rain or sunshine 
  Leaf or blossom dies—
But I'd give the world for an English elm 
  Under English skies! 

Here's a mongoose
    Dead in the sluice
    Of the bath-room drain.
    How was he slain?
    He must have lain
    Days, it is plain . . .
    Stopper your nose,
    Throw him out to the crows.

Tara Chand is the gardener's mate,
And labours late and early;
But Dunni is my pony's sais,
And steals the golden barley.

Golden barley, roses red,
Rejoice in your morning beauty!
For I have broken Tara's head,
And given Dunni chuti.

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