A RIDDLE.
What I say you'll scarce believe,
Yet my words shall not deceive.
I saw what seem'd a little Boy,
With a face of life and joy;
He danced, he ran, he nodded, he smiled,
Just like any other Child;
But could not speak, (how strange was this!)
Or cry, or breathe, nor could I kiss,
To save my life, the cherry red
Of lips, not living and not dead!
He was no picture, statue, doll;
He was not a Child at all;
He was Nothing, as near as could be,
He was as real as you or me.
—There he is: turn and see!
