THE BABY'S REVERY.
AN exquisite little maiden
With a head like a golden flower,
She soberly stood at the window
In the still, white twilight hour.
"Of what are you thinking, sweetheart?
She was such a little child,
She could not answer the question;
She only dimpled and smiled.
But I wondered, as she frolicked,
Her mystic revery o'er,
Was she a rose-shade less a child
Than she had been before?
Was she pausing, as a rose-bud
Seems pausing while it grows?
Had I caught the blooming minute
Of a little human rose?