The mistake of the loves

To-day, as idly in my chair, I, hardly half-awake, was dreaming, Methought, in through the sunny air, A swarm of laughing loves came streaming, Winged mischiefs, here and there, without My leave, the wantons gleamed and fluttered, Buzzing, like bees, the room about, Ere half a sentence could be uttered.

In fact, with such glad hushed surprise, I saw the little urchins flying, Like humming-birds, before my eyes, In every nook and corner prying, Now handling this—now into that With childish laughs and chatter peeping, I did not care to stay their chat, But silent sat as I’d been sleeping.

What would they do? Quick, every one Found every moment new employment: They paused at last; well, now what fun Would yield their smallships fresh employment? My scrap-book lay before me there; One saw, and straightway courage mustered, Helped by five more, the prize to bear To where all close around it clustered.

Swift over, leaf on leaf was turned; Small praise, each sketch, while passing under Those tiny curious quick eyes, earned, Till, ah! at last, one waked their wonder; My pencil there had vainly tried, How vainly! as it oft had striven, To do that unto it denied— Image the beauty to you given.

Yet passion there, to labouring art, A strength beyond its own had granted; Enough was there to make them start, However much of you was wanted; Eyes, dimples, hair, those peeping pearls, As those red lips so archly show them, They saw them, and, O flower of girls! How strange! at once they seemed to know them.

O what a storm of pretty noise, Of cries and clappings straight I heard then, Of little feet that stamped the joys, Enough their small tongues couldn’t word then; What with delight could thrill them so! Hardly my wonder I could smother; Till, listening, soon I laughed to know, They, in your likeness, saw their mother.