’TIS THE APPLES.
Reading edition
Little kid, Frisking kid, Pretty as a fawn, Runs to me when I pass Where he lies in the grass, At the early dawn. Little one, pretty pet, You have not forgotten yet How the other day I fed You with apples, rosy-red, By the garden wall. ’Tis for juicy apples sweet You are kneeling at my feet, ’Tis the apples you love so— Apples, and not me, I know, Oh, not me at all!