WILLIE and Bess, Georgie and May,— Once as these children were hard at play, An old man, hoary and tottering, came And watched them playing their pretty game.
He seemed to wonder, while standing there, What the meaning thereof could be. Aha, but the old man yearned to share Of the little children's innocent glee,
As they circled around with laugh and shout, And told this rhyme at counting out: “Intry-mintry, cutrey-corn, Apple-seed and apple-thorn,
Wire, brier, limber, lock, Twelve geese in a flock; Some flew east, some flew west, Some flew over the cuckoo's nest.”
Willie and Bess, Georgie and May,— Ah, the mirth of that summer day! ‘ Twas Father Time who had come to share The innocent joy of those children there.
He learned betimes the game they played, And into their sport with them went he,— How could the children have been afraid, Since little they recked who he might be?
They laughed to hear old Father Time Mumbling that curious nonsense rhyme Of intry-mintry, cutrey-corn, Apple-seed and apple-thorn,
Wire, brier, limber, lock, Twelve geese in a flock; Some flew east, some flew west, Some flew over the cuckoo's nest.
Willie and Bess, Georgie and May, And joy of summer,— where are they? The grim old man still standeth near, Crooning the song of a far-off year;
And into the winter I come alone, Cheered by that mournful requiem, Soothed by the dolorous monotone That shall count me off as it counted them,—
The solemn voice of old Father Time, Chanting the homely nursery rhyme He learned of the children a summer morn, When, with “apple-seed and apple-thorn,”
Life was full of the dulcet cheer That bringeth the grace of heaven anear: The sound of the little ones hard at play,— Willie and Bess, Georgie and May.
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