Polly
W HO'S this coming down the stairs,
Putting on such lofty airs;
With that hump upon her back,
And her little heels click, clack?
Such a funny little girl,
With a funny great long curl
Hanging from a mound of hair;
And a hat way back in the air,
Just to show a little border
Of yellow curls, all out of order
She's a silly girl, I guess,
I'm glad it is n't — Why, bless
My soul! it's our little Polly
Tricked out in all that folly!
Well, I declare, I never
Was so beat; for if ever
There was a sensible girl,
I thought 't was little Polly Earl.
And here — Well, it's very queer
To come back, after a year,
And find my Polly changed like this, —
A hunched-up, bunched-up, furbelowed miss,
With a steeple of a hat,
And her hair like a mat,
It's so frightfully frowzled
And roughed up and tousled!
O Polly, Polly! — Well, my dear,
So you're glad grandfather's here?
And I confess that kiss
Does smack of the Polly I miss, —
The girl with the soft, smooth hair,
Instead of this kinked-up snare.
What! you're just the same Polly,
In spite of all this folly?
And what is that you say
About your grandmother's day,
That you guess the folly
Has n't just begun? — O Polly,
If you could only have seen
Your grandmother at eighteen!
What's that about the puffs
And the stiffened-up ruffs
That they wore in the time
Of your grandmother's prime?
And the big buckram sleeves
That stood out like the leaves
Of the old-fashioned tables;
And the bonnets big as gables,
And the laced-up waists — Why, sho,
Polly, how your tongue does go!
Little girls should be seen, not heard
Quite so much, Polly, on my word
O, I'm trying to get away,
Eh, from your grandmother's day,
But I'm not to escape
Quite so easy from a scrape?
What, you expect me to say
That your grandmother's day
Was as foolish as this? —
Polly, give me a kiss;
I'm beaten, I see —
And I'll agree, I'll agree
That young folks find
All things to their mind;
And in your grandmother's time,
When I too was in my prime,
I've no doubt, Polly,
I looked at all the folly
Connected with the lasses
Through rose-colored glasses,
As the youths of to-day
Look at you, Polly, eh?
But I've given you fair warning
How older folk see; so, Polly, good morning!
Putting on such lofty airs;
With that hump upon her back,
And her little heels click, clack?
Such a funny little girl,
With a funny great long curl
Hanging from a mound of hair;
And a hat way back in the air,
Just to show a little border
Of yellow curls, all out of order
She's a silly girl, I guess,
I'm glad it is n't — Why, bless
My soul! it's our little Polly
Tricked out in all that folly!
Well, I declare, I never
Was so beat; for if ever
There was a sensible girl,
I thought 't was little Polly Earl.
And here — Well, it's very queer
To come back, after a year,
And find my Polly changed like this, —
A hunched-up, bunched-up, furbelowed miss,
With a steeple of a hat,
And her hair like a mat,
It's so frightfully frowzled
And roughed up and tousled!
O Polly, Polly! — Well, my dear,
So you're glad grandfather's here?
And I confess that kiss
Does smack of the Polly I miss, —
The girl with the soft, smooth hair,
Instead of this kinked-up snare.
What! you're just the same Polly,
In spite of all this folly?
And what is that you say
About your grandmother's day,
That you guess the folly
Has n't just begun? — O Polly,
If you could only have seen
Your grandmother at eighteen!
What's that about the puffs
And the stiffened-up ruffs
That they wore in the time
Of your grandmother's prime?
And the big buckram sleeves
That stood out like the leaves
Of the old-fashioned tables;
And the bonnets big as gables,
And the laced-up waists — Why, sho,
Polly, how your tongue does go!
Little girls should be seen, not heard
Quite so much, Polly, on my word
O, I'm trying to get away,
Eh, from your grandmother's day,
But I'm not to escape
Quite so easy from a scrape?
What, you expect me to say
That your grandmother's day
Was as foolish as this? —
Polly, give me a kiss;
I'm beaten, I see —
And I'll agree, I'll agree
That young folks find
All things to their mind;
And in your grandmother's time,
When I too was in my prime,
I've no doubt, Polly,
I looked at all the folly
Connected with the lasses
Through rose-colored glasses,
As the youths of to-day
Look at you, Polly, eh?
But I've given you fair warning
How older folk see; so, Polly, good morning!
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