A DINNER AND A KISS.
“I have brought your dinner, father,”
The blacksmith’s daughter said,
As she took from her arm the kettle
And lifted its shining lid.
“There is not any pie or pudding,
So I will give you this.”
And upon the toil-worn forehead
She left the childish kiss.
The blacksmith took off his apron,
And dined in happy mood,
Wondering much at the savor
Hid in his humble food;
While all about him were visions
Full of prophetic bliss;
But he never thought of the magic
In his little daughter’s kiss.
And she, with her kettle swinging,
Merrily trudged away,
Stopping at sight of a squirrel,
Catching some wild bird’s lay.
And I thought, how many a shadow
Of life and fate we would miss,
If always our frugal dinners
Were seasoned with a kiss.
