A Victorian anthology, 1837-1595
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WILLIAM BRIGHTY RANDS
477
DRESSING THE DOLL
THIS is the way we dress the Doll :
You may make her a shepherdess, the Doll,
If you give her a crook with a pastoral hook,
But this is the way we dress the Doll.
Chorus
Bless the Doll, you may press the Doll,
But do not crumple and mess the Doll t
This is the way we dress the Doll.
First, you observe, her little chemise,
As white as milk, with ruches of silk ;
And the little drawers that cover her knees,
As she sits or stands, with golden bands,
And lace in beautiful filagrees.
Chorus
Now these are the bodies : she has two,
One of pink, with rouches of blue,
And sweet white lace ; be careful, do !
And one of green, with buttons of sheen,
Buttons and bands of gold, I mean,
With lace on the border in lovely order,
The most expensive we can afford her !
Chorus
| Then, with black at the border, jacket
I And this and this she will not lack it ;
I Skirts ? Why, there are skirts, of course,
I And shoes and stockings we shall enforce,
I With a proper bodice, in the proper place,
I ( Stays that lace have had their days
I And made their martyrs) ; likewise garters,
| All entire. But our desire
I Is to show you her night attire,
| At least a part of it. Pray admire
This sweet white thing that she goes to
bed in !
It ' s not the one that ' s made for her wed
ding :
That is special, a new design,
Made with a charm and a countersign,
Three times three and nine times nine :
These are only her usual clothes.
Look, there ' s a wardrobe ! gracious knows
It ' s pretty enough, as far as it goes !
So you see the way we dress the Doll :
You might make her a shepherdess, the
Doll,
If you gave her a crook with pastoral hook,
With sheep, and a shed, and a shallow brook,
And all that, out of the poetry-book.
Chorus
Bless the Doll, you may press the Doll,
But do not crumple and mess the Doll !
This is the way we dress the Doll ;
If you had not seen, could you guess the
I SAW A NEW WORLD
I SAW a new world in my dream,
Where all the folks alike did seem :
There was no Child, there was no Mother.
There was no Change, there was no Other.
For everything was Same, the Same ;
There was no praise, there was no blame ;
There was neither Need nor Help for it ;
There was nothing fitting or unfit.
Nobody laugh ' d, nobody wept ;
None grew weary, so none slept ;
There was nobody born, and nobody wed ;
This world was a world of the living-dead.
I long ' d to hear the Time-Clock strike
In the world where people were all alike ;
I hated Same, I hated forever ;
I long ' d to say Neither, or even Never.
I long ' d to mend, I long ' d to make ;
I long ' d to give, I long ' d to take ;
I long ' d fora change, whatever came after,
I long ' d for crying, I long ' d for laughter.
At last I heard the Time-Clock boom,
And woke from my dream in my little room ;
With a smile on her lips my Mother was
nigh,
And I heard the Baby crow and cry.
And I thought to myself, How nice it is
For me to live in a world like this,
Where things can happen, and clocks can
strike,
And none of the people are made alike ;
Where Love wants this, and Pain want*
that,
Where all our hearts want Tit for Tat
In the jumbles we make with our heads and
our hands,
In a world that nobody understands.
But with work, and hope, and the right to
call
Upon Him who sees it and knows us all !
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