somebody shook and shivered,

somebody sobbed and cried,

while the sponge and the soap stood waiting

the nursery bath beside.

“come on, dearie! we’re all ready.”

why should she wash this morning?

each day she said the same,

and nurse, who was tired of the crying,

quite vexed with her became.

never a bit of washing

somebody got that day,

and the evening fell, and her father came

to have a game of play.

black was her face—he could not

its grimy surface kiss;

at washing she never has grumbled,

from that sad day to this.