ANONYMOUS

"His Sixth Birhday"

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He has given up his cradle and his little worsted ball,

   He has hidden all his dolls behind the door :

He must have a rocking-horse,

And a hardwood top of course,

   For, he isn't mamma's baby any more.

He has cut off all his curls, they are only fit for girls.

   And has left them on a heap upon the floor;

For he's six years old to-day,

And he's glad to hear them say

   That he isn't mamma's baby any more.

He has pockets in his trousers, like his elder brother Jim;

   Though he thinks he should have had them long before;

Has new shoes laced to the top,

'Tis a puzzle where they stop;

   And he isn't mamma's baby any more.

He has heard his parents sigh, and has greatly wondered why

   They are sorry, when he has such bliss in store;

For he's now their darling boy,

And will be their pride and joy,

   Though he cannot be their baby any more.

Daily Painting
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Anonymous from Northern India, Himachal Pradesh, Pahari Kingdom of Kangra

Rama’s Brothers Bharata and Shatrughna set out from Ayodhya to find Rama and Lakshmana in the forest to inform them of the death of their father Dasharatha (c. 1775)

ANONYMOUS NURSERY RHYME

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It’s like a lion at the door;

And when the door begins to crack,

It’s like a stick across your back;

And when your back begins to smart,

It’s like a penknife in your heart;

And when your heart begins to bleed, 

You’re dead, and dead, indeed.

ANONYMOUS NURSERY RHYME

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Here comes a candle to light you to bed,

Here comes a chopper to chop off your head.

ANONYMOUS NURSERY RHYME

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Goosey goosey gander,

Whither shall I wander?

Upstairs and downstairs,

And in my lady’s chamber;

There I met an old man

Who wouldn’t say his prayers;

I took him by the left leg

And threw him down the stairs

ANONYMOUS NURSERY RHYME

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Sing a song of sixpence,

A pocket full of rye,

Four and twenty blackbirds, 

Baked in a pie;

When the pie was opened, 

The birds began to sing; 

Wasn’t that a dainty dish 

To set before a king?

The king was in his countinghouse 

Counting out his money;

The queen was in the parlor 

Eating bread and honey;

The maid was in the garden 

Hanging out the clothes, 

Along came a blackbird, 

And snipped off her nose.

ANONYMOUS NURSERY RHYME

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There was an old woman tossed in a blanket, 

Seventeen times as high as the moon;

But where she was going no mortal could tell, 

For under her arm she carried a broom.

Old woman, old woman, old woman, said I, 

Whither, ah whither, ah whither so high?

To sweep the cobwebs from the sky,

And I’ll be with you by and by.

ANONYMOUS NURSERY RHYME

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Solomon Grundy, 

Born on a Monday, 

Christened on Tuesday, 

Married on Wednesday, 

Took ill on Thursday, 

Worse on Friday,

Died on Saturday, 

Buried on Sunday: 

This is the end

Of Solomon Grundy.

ANONYMOUS NURSERY RHYME

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Peter, Peter Pumpkin-Eater,

Had a wife and couldn’t keep her. 

He put her in a pumpkin shell, 

And there he kept her very well.

ANONYMOUS NURSERY RHYME

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Old King Cole

Was a merry old soul,

And a merry old soul was he,

He called for his pipe,

And he called for his bowl,

And he called for his fiddlers three.

ANONYMOUS NURSERY RHYME

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A man of words and not of deeds 

Is like a garden full of weeds.

POPULAR RHYME, AUTHOR UNKNOWN

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There was a young lady of Riga 

Who went for a ride on a tiger. 

They returned from the ride 

With the lady inside

And a smile on the face of the tiger.