She sits among her dolls and toys and doesn’t seem to care
If wealth is all in rosy cheeks and locks of curly hair.
She toddles up to me and like an artful fairy clips
A coupon bearing love from off the sweetness of her lips.
And when she puts her arms around my neck and goos in glee,
She’s worth uncounted millions to her mother and to me.
And when she’s in her crib at night and daintily tucked in,
The wealth of Croesus couldn’t buy the dimple in her chin,
And as she blinks her roguish eyes to play at peek-a-boo,
She chuckles me a fortune with each archly spoken goo.
And though she has no fortune, I am sure you will agree,
She’s a fortune, more than money, to her mother and to me.
DEAR LITTLE, QUEER LITTLE MAN
DEAR little, queer little man,
With his hair all a tumble of curls,
With a light in his eyes
Like the blue of the skies
When the dawn’s rosy banner unfurls!
Sweet little, fleet little man,
Who fills all the house with his toys,
Whose laugh has the truth
Of the heart of his youth:
A toast to the health of our boys!
Dear little, queer little man,
With a big, paper cap on his head,
And a sword at his side
As he gets up to ride
On his hobby-horse, gaudy and red!
Play, little, gay little man;
Fill all of the house with your noise,
For, oh, it were ill
If your laughter were still!
A toast to the laughter of boys!
Dear little, queer little man,
With dreams of the future to be,
When he shall grow tall
And shall care for us all,
His mother, his sister and me!
Brave little, grave little man,
With thoughts, like his youth, incomplete,
But bearing the seed
That shall blossom and lead
To manhood all gracious and sweet.
Dear little, queer little man,
Whose heart is so boyish and pure,
May the sweetness and truth
That are flowers of youth
Through all of your being endure!
Play, little, gay little man;
Fill all of the house with your noise,
For, oh, what so sweet
As the pattering feet
And the echoing laughter of boys?
Dear little, queer little man,
The light of the dawn’s rosy beams
Be evermore spread
On your dear, curly head,
And truth to your innocent dreams!
Blest little, best little man,
God keep you as pure as the truth
That lingers and lies
In the light of your eyes:
Long life to the heart of your youth!
GIRL OF MINE
OH, her frock is crisp and white,
And her hair is curled up tight
To her roguish little head, just like an aureole of light.
Not a heart but she could win
With the ribbon at her chin
And her cheeks that have such very little merry dimples in.