But the sun came up, and the sun shone down,
And the little white heads were withered and brown;
Long were their faces, their pride had a fall--
They were nothing but toadstools, after all.
BIRD THOUGHTS[2]
[Footnote 2: _Ibid_.]
I lived first in a little house,
And lived there very well;
I thought the world was small and round,
And made of pale blue shell.
I lived next in a little nest,
Nor needed any other;
I thought the world was made of straw,
And brooded by my mother.
One day I fluttered from the nest
To see what I could find.
I said, "The world is made of leaves;
I have been very blind."
At length I flew beyond the tree,
Quite fit for grown-up labours.
I don't know how the world _is_ made,
And neither do my neighbours!
HOW WE CAME TO HAVE PINK ROSES[1]
[Footnote 1: Told me by Miss Elizabeth McCracken.]
Once, ever and ever so long ago, we didn't have any pink roses. All the
roses in the world were white. There weren't any red ones at all, any
yellow ones, or any pink ones,--only white roses.
And one morning, very early, a little white rosebud woke up, and saw the
sun looking at her.
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