TO MY DAUGHTER

O little one, daughter, my dearest, With your smiles and your beautiful curls, And your laughter, the brightest and clearest, O gravest and gayest of girls;

With your hands that are softer than roses, And your lips that are lighter than flowers, And that innocent brow that discloses A wisdom more lovely than ours;

With your locks that encumber, or scatter In a thousand mercurial gleams, And those feet whose impetuous patter I hear and remember in dreams;

With your manner of motherly duty, When you play with your dolls and are wise; With your wonders of speech, and the beauty In your little imperious eyes;

When I hear you so silverly ringing Your welcome from chamber or stair. When you run to me, kissing and clinging, So radiant, so rosily fair;

I bend like an ogre above you; I bury my face in your curls; I fold you, I clasp you, I love you. O baby, queen-blossom of girls!