Thistle-Seed
THISTLE-SEED, thistle-seed,
Fly away, fly,
The hair on your body
Will take you up high;
Let the wind whirl you
Around and around,
You’ll not hurt yourself
When you fall to the ground.
The Little Student
WHILE raking the hay on the mountain,
A student came riding along,
He was riding a dapple-gray pony,
And singing a scrap of a song.
To the home of his bride he was going,
But her father and mother were out,
And he saw, as he pushed the door open,
The girl he was thinking about.
Her cheeks were as pink as a rose-bud,
Her teeth were as white as a pearl,
Her lips were as red as a cherry,
Most truly a beautiful girl.