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Read Ebook: Kensington Rhymes by MacKenzie Compton Monsell J R Illustrator
Font size: Background color: Text color: Add to tbrJar First Page Next PageEbook has 226 lines and 14145 words, and 5 pagesPAGE OUR HOUSE 11 OUR SQUARE 15 THE DANCING CLASS 17 MY SISTER AT A PARTY 22 KISSING GAMES 26 A BALLAD OF THE ROUND POND 28 TOWN AND COUNTRY 35 POOR LAVENDER GIRLS 37 SUMMER HOLIDAYS 39 THE UNPLEASANT MOON 42 SUGGESTIONS ABOUT SLEEP 44 THE RARE BURGLAR 47 THE GERMAN BAND 49 THE DECEITFUL RAT-TAT 53 THE CAGE IN THE PILLAR BOX 54 THE FORTUNATE COALMEN 57 THE PAVEMENT ARTIST 60 SWEEPS 63 GREENGROCERS 65 CHRISTMAS NOT FAR OFF 66 THE DISAPPOINTMENT 67 TREASURE TROVE 68 A VISIT TO MY AUNT 73 THE WET DAY 84 LAST WORDS 87 KENSINGTON RHYMES OUR house is very high and red, The steps are very white, The balcony is full of flowers, The knocker's very bright. The hall has got a coloured lamp, A rack for father's hat, And pegs for coats: a curious word Is printed on the mat. The kitchen ticks too loud at night, It is a horrid place; Black-beetles run about the floor At a most dreadful pace. The cellar is quite black with coal, The cat goes scratching there; People go tramping past above, But nobody knows where. The dining-room has rosy walls, And silver knives and forks, And when I listen at the door, I hear the popping corks. The library smells like new boots, It is a woolly room; The housemaid comes at eight o'clock And sweeps it with a broom. The staircase has a thousand rods That rattle if you kick, And when the twilight makes it blue I rush up very quick. The landing is a dismal place, The bannisters creak so, The door-knobs twinkle horribly, The gas is always low. The drawing-room is cold and white, The chairs have crooked legs; Silk ladies rustle in and out While Fido sits and begs. The bathroom is a trickling room, And always smells of paint, The cupboard's full of medicine For fever, cold or faint. My bedroom is a brassy room With pictures on the wall: It's rather full of nurse's clothes But then my own are small. Our house is very high and red, The steps are very white, The balcony is full of flowers, The knocker's very bright. Nobody knows what SALVE means OUR square is really most select, Infectious children, dogs and cats Are not allowed to come inside, Nor any people from the flats. I have a sweetheart in the square, I bring her pebbles that I find, And curious shapes in mould, and sticks, And kiss her when she does not mind. She wears a dress of crackling white, A shiny sash of pink or blue, And over these a pinafore, And she comes out at half-past two. Her legs are tall and thin and black, Her eyes are very large and brown, And as she walks along the paths, Her frock moves slowly up and down. We all have sweethearts in our square, And when the winter comes again, We shall go to the dancing-class And watch them walking through the rain. EACH week on Friday night at six Our dancing-class begins: Two ladies dressed in white appear And play two violins. It's really meant for boys at school, But girls can also come, And when you walk inside the room You hear a pleasant hum. The older boys wear Eton suits, The younger boys white tops; We stand together in a row And practise curious hops. The dancing-master shows the step With many a puff and grunt; He has a red silk handkerchief Stuck grandly in his front. He's awfully excitable, His wrists are very strong, He drags you up and down the room Whenever you go wrong. And when you're going very wrong, The girls begin to laugh; And when you're pushed back in your place, The boys turn round and chaff. Add to tbrJar First Page Next Page |
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