Tommy Smith

Dimple-cheeked and rosy-lipped, With his cap-rim backward tipped, Still in fancy I can see Little Tommy smile on me-- Little Tommy Smith.

Little unsung Tommy Smith-- Scarce a name to rhyme it with; Yet most tenderly to me Something sings unceasingly-- Little Tommy Smith.

On the verge of some far land Still forever does he stand, With his cap-rim rakishly Tilted; so he smiles on me-- Little Tommy Smith.

Elder-blooms contrast the grace Of the rover's radiant face-- Whistling back, in mimicry, "Old--Bob--White!" all liquidly-- Little Tommy Smith.

O my jaunty statuette Of first love, I see you yet. Though you smile so mistily, It is but through tears I see, Little Tommy Smith.

But, with crown tipped back behind, And the glad hand of the wind Smoothing back your hair, I see Heaven's best angel smile on me,-- Little Tommy Smith.