TO MY LITTLE NIECE.
Thou art sporting amid the flowers, sweet child,
And a lovely flower art thou;
The rose is budding upon thy cheek,
And the lily upon thy brow.
And a lovely flower art thou;
The rose is budding upon thy cheek,
And the lily upon thy brow.
Thine eyes are as dark as the bright gazelle's,
But of just as soft a hue
As the violet when it folds its leaves,
'Neath the starlight and the dew.
But of just as soft a hue
As the violet when it folds its leaves,
'Neath the starlight and the dew.
Thou art sporting on, in thy guilelessness,
That free and joyous thing—
A happy child, ere the cares of earth
A shade o'er thy brow can fling.
That free and joyous thing—
A happy child, ere the cares of earth
A shade o'er thy brow can fling.
