The Prize

Hie to the meadow, my dearies three,

And hunt for some sweet, pretty thing for me!

There’s a cake in the oven with almonds and spice,

And raisins and citron, and all that’s nice,

To pay for the sweetest, my dearies three!”

When home from the field came the dearies </> three,

One brought to her mother a wild rose-tree;

And another brought her a blue jay’s feather

And one of a gray goose, tied together,

And she was sure of the prize, was she.

But the last little girl of the dearies three

Had sucked a clover-bell like a bee,

And tasted a columbine’s honeyed tips

To sweeten a kiss for her mother’s lips;

And she got the beautiful cake for tea.