THE little rag doll is queen, Her realm is a maiden's heart, And there she will reign serene, And play her important part. A bundle of rags is she, With collar of scraggly fur; She's only a doll to me, But more than a doll to her. A doll that I thought a prize I gave to the little maid, That opened and shut its eyes, And beauty of face displayed; But somehow it seemed to me She never received the care I daily and hourly see Bestowed on a doll less fair. The doll that can really talk, The doll in the silken dress, The doll that is made to walk Lies lonely in some recess; Forgotten and pushed aside, It lies in the dust apart, While that of the rags, in pride, Is held to the maiden's heart. The doll is a doll to me, A bundle of rags and fur, And yet I am quick to see It's more than a doll to her; And so it maintains its place, Unrivalled it holds its own; In rags and a painted face It stands in her heart alone. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RIDDLE: TEETH AND GUMS by MOTHER GOOSE ROBIN REDBREAST by MOTHER GOOSE A CHRISTMAS CAROL (1) by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI WHITE MOMENTS by KATHARINE LEE BATES WRITTEN IN ZIMMERMAN'S SOLITUDE by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS TO THE MEMORY OF A FRIEND WHO DIED ON SABBATH MORNING by ELIZABETH BOGART |