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!