But he doesn’t look much like growing,
Yet I think that he will in a year,
And I wish that the days would be going,
And the time when he walks would be here!
O larks! sing out to the thrushes,
And thrushes, sing as you soar;
For I think, when another spring blushes,
I can tell you a great deal more:
I shall look from one to the other,
And say: “Guess, who I’m bringing to you?”