I hate to see a little girl
That does not love to rise,
And have the water, fresh and sweet,
Cover her face and eyes.
I hate to see her pretty dress
So careless look and tossed,
Her toys all scattered here and there,
Her thread and needle lost.
I hate to see her, at her play,
When little girls have met
To frolic, laugh and run about,
Grow peevish, cry and fret.
I hate to hear her tell a lie -
What's not her own to take;
Mamma's commands to disobey,
And father's rules to break.
And now I've told you what I hate,
I'll only stop to say,
Perhaps I'll tell you what I love
Upon some other day.*
*выделение моё - С.