Polly

Brown eyes,

        Straight nose;

    Dirt pies,

        Rumpled clothes;

    Torn books,

        Spoilt toys;

    Arch looks,

        Unlike a boy's;

    Little rages,

      Obvious arts;

  (Three her age is,)

      Cakes, tarts;

  Falling down

      Off chairs;

  Breaking crown

      Down stairs;

  Catching flies

      On the pane;

  Deep sighs,—

      Cause not plain.

  Bribing you

      With kisses

  For a few

      Farthing blisses;

  Wide awake,

      As you hear,

  "Mercy's sake,

      Quiet, dear!"

  New shoes,

      New frock;

  Vague views

      Of what's o'clock

  When it's time

      To go to bed,

  And scorn sublime

      Of what is said;

  Folded hands,

      Saying prayers,

  Understands

      Not, nor cares;

  Thinks it odd,

      Smiles away;

  Yet may God

      Hear her pray!

  Bedgown white,

      Kiss Dolly;

  Good-night!—

      That's Polly,

  Fast asleep,

      As you see;

  Heaven keep

      My girl for me!