: Christmas Roses by Lawson Lizzie Mack Robert Ellice - Children's poetry; Picture books for children; Children Conduct of life Juvenile poetry

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Christmas Roses

by

Lizzie Lawson

and

Robert Ellice Mack.

London: Griffith, Farran & Company St. Paul's Churchyard.

I cannot bring thee violets dear, Or cowslips growing wild, Or daisy chain for thee to wear, For thee to wear, my child.

For all the grassy meadows near Are clad with snow, my child; Through all the days of winter drear No ray of sun has smiled.

I plucked this bunch of verses, dear, From out my garden wild, I plucked them in the winter drear For you, my fairest child, Your wet and wintry hours to cheer, They're Christmas Roses, child.

I don't know if by chimney or if by stair he crept, But sure enough he visited the room where Nelly slept. He brought a golden orange, and a monkey red and blue, That climbed a little wooden stick in a way I couldn't do. He hung them in Nell's stocking, and Nan was right, be sure, That Santa Claus loves every one however rich or poor.

And than the next thing that I do I dare say you have guessed; It's to go at once and see him, when I am washed and dressed. And every day I see him I like him more and more, And each day he is bigger than he was the day before.

I feed him in the morning with bran and bits of bread, And every night I take some straw to make his little bed. What with carrots in the morning and turnip-tops for tea, If a bunny can be happy, I'm sure he ought to be.

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