Three little maids, one winter day,
While others went to feed,
To sing, to laugh, to dance, to play,
More wisely went to—Reed.
Others, when lesson-time’s begun,
Go, half inclined to cry,
Some in a walk, some in a run;
But these went in a—Fly.
I give to other little maids
A smile, a kiss, a look,
Presents whose memory quickly fades;
I give to these—a Book.
Happy Arcadia may blind,
While all abroad, their eyes;
At home, this book (I trust) they’ll find
A very catching prize.