As we stroll the faubourgs through.

Dear Holy Virgin, beside my stove I have set a cradle with ribbons decked. God may give me his loveliest star; I prefer the child thou hast granted me. ‘Madame, what shall I do with this linen fine?’⁠—‘Make of it clothes for thy newborn babe.’

Roses are pink and cornflowers are blue,

I love my love, and cornflowers are blue.