i said, "when will the summer come?

mamma, is it not late?"

she smiled, and answered. "by-and-by;

be patient, child, and wait."

i asked papa if he would buy

a new wax doll for me.

he pinched my cheek, and said, "not now;

be patient, and i'll see."

"nurse, tell me when my dear rose-bush

a blossom red will bear."

"oh, by-and-by, my dear. don't fret.

come, let me brush your hair."

"when shall i grow so tall, papa,

that i can reach your head?"

"quite soon enough, my little one;

wait patiently," he said.

"dear me!" i thought; "they all say 'wait.'

i'll put my dolls away.

and go and sit upon the stairs

as long as i can stay."

now i have waited patiently

for hours and hours and hours,

and yet the dear doll has not come,

the summer, nor the flowers.

i have not grown a single bit,

and now i know it's late.

i'm going up to tell mamma

it does no good to wait.