THE DOLL’S CALENDAR⁠[9]

Was ever a doll like my Dolladine, The charmingest dolly that ever was seen! Eyes as blue as the sky at noon, Hair as bright as the summer moon, Dolladine, my dear! She came to me in December last; To the Christmas-tree they had bound her fast; My heart beat high when I saw her face, And I squeezed her tight, thro’ her silk and lace, Dolladine, my dear! I’m the thoughtfullest mother that ever was known; I’d scorn to leave Dolladine, darling, alone; Each month of the twelve I invent her a play, And I give her a flower to wear every day, Dolladine, my dear! On the very first day of the year just begun, I wove her some snow-shoes, and when they were done, A fine sled I made her, to slide at her will, To skim o’er the valley and whiz down the hill, Dolladine, my dear! Fresh blossoms in winter come just a bit high, And there aren’t any flower-shops very near by; So my pet wears a garland of fir and of pine, And under the green how her starry eyes shine! Dolladine, my dear, my sweet! Dolladine, my own!

February, dark and chilly, Comes with dripping rain, Noon of day and midnight stilly, Tapping on the pane. Dolladine is growing older, Precious doll of mine; And to-day my love I’ve told her, In a valentine. Cherry blossoms she is wearing, Sent her from the west. Tell me, can you, why she’s bearing These upon her breast?

Pussy with the silver fur; Willow, pussy willow! Dollie wants to hear you purr; Willow, pussy willow! Kites are sailing in the sky; Willow, pussy willow! Wind is tossing branches high; Willow, pussy willow! March has come, ’tis time to blow; Willow, pussy willow! All your glossy kits to show; Willow, pussy willow!

A rain-pool lies just over the way, And on it a fairy boat; And there, in her craft of the birchen bark My dollie’s a sailor afloat. Row, row, Dolladine, now! April is steering and Spring’s at the bow. With Dandelions the prow is decked, All gay on the rain-pool sea, And a chain I’ve made of their shining stems, To draw Dollie back to me. Row, row, pretty one, now! April is steering and Spring’s at the bow.

May is coming, listen! hark! Flowers growing dawn and dark. Dollie’s playing in the grass, Bees about her humming pass; Lilacs in her yellow hair, Breath of lilacs everywhere. Let us set a May-pole here, Where the daisy buds appear; Let us garland it about, Weave with blossoms in and out. Then I’ll wreathe a flow’ry crown, Make a regal robe and gown. Who of May shall be the queen? Who but precious Dolladine!

Dollie and I in the sweet June weather, A rose of June in her hair. Dollie and I in the swing together; Oh, the rush of the swing in the air! Strawberries ripening down in the meadow, A strawberry is her mouth. Buttercups swaying in sun and shadow; Oh, soft is the wind of the south! If but June weather might last forever, Warm as the heart of my dear, And birds and blossoms, in sweet endeavor, Might grow side by side for a year!

The poppy glows in the garden bed, For it is July. The poppy’s drooping her drowsy head, For it is July. Blue sky, flags high, Hot July. The poppy’s the only one to sleep, For it is July. The world is too noisy for slumber deep, For it is July. Blue sky, flags high, Gay July. Dolladine’s wearing a Liberty cap, For it is July. She’ll march when she hears the drummer’s tap, For it is July. Blue sky, flags high, Our July.

It really makes me very sad To tell the illness dollie’s had. The causes were not wholly plain, But remedies were all in vain; And doctors said that she must go Down where the ocean breezes blow. At home the lilies are in bloom, Here sea-winds give the sole perfume. And Dolladine is growing brown As dry leaves when they flutter down. Gone are her ills, forgotten quite. Deep in the sand they hide from sight. I’ve made of her a mermaid fair. A veil of sea-weed shrouds her hair. A rope of sea-shells decks her gown, Low falling, all her drapery down. In the whole world of waters green, There’s naught so fair as Dolladine.

Do you know of a fairy maiden, All in the olden time, Who rode in a pumpkin carriage, Like a Christmas pantomime? Such a Cinder-maid is dollie, Such a pumpkin coach has she, And she’s off to the royal palace, The prince himself to see. Jack-o-Lanterns light the ball, ’Tis a night entrancing. Golden-rod bedecks the hall, Crickets play for dancing. No crystal shoe has dollie, But her foot is like a fay’s, And of all the folk at the party, None can better tread the maze. She’ll return ere the hour of midnight, Her godmamma to see, The fairy who built her carriage; Can you guess who this may be? Jack-o-Lanterns light the ball, ’Tis a night entrancing. Golden-rod bedecks the hall, Crickets play for dancing.

Autumn’s coming o’er the hill Treading fast and faster. Soon his foot will cross the sill, Autumn’s coming o’er the hill. Where the summer lingers still, Blooms the purple aster. Autumn’s coming o’er the hill, Treading fast and faster. Through the rustling leaves she goes, Dolladine, my dollie. Summer’s lent her cheek a rose, Through the rustling leaves she goes. Down the frosty wind there blows Autumn’s laughter jolly; Through the rustling leaves she goes, Dolladine, my dollie.

The Indian chieftain smokes his pipe, The hills with haze are murky. And yonder struts, with spreading tail, The grand Thanksgiving turkey. Oh ho! Oh ho! how happy we’ll be, When the cousins come to dollie and me! Dollie shall wear a cranberry chain, And her very best new bonnet; The one with a buckle, a puff and a bow, And a curly feather on it. Oh ho! Oh ho! how happy we’ll be, When the cousins come to dollie and me! The house is ready, the fires blaze, We fear not cold November. By the hearth we’ll sit and stories tell, And good old times remember. Oh ho! Oh ho! how happy we’ll be, When the cousins come to dollie and me!

It is the eve of Christmas Day, And thick and fast it’s snowing. With dollie cuddled in my lap, I watch the white flakes blowing. Long, long ago I bought her gift, A holly wreath I’ve made her, And I shall hang her stocking up When safe in bed I’ve laid her. Dear Santa Claus, whate’er you bring, Of all your Christmas blisses, You ne’er can bring to me again So sweet a doll as this is. My lamb she is, my dear delight, My darling and my treasure; Of all the joys the year has brought, The very chiefest pleasure.