Wrestle and run in the mire to their knees;
But I, with only a name that she
Makes musical, can happier be,
For I love Bessie and she loves me!
My lady is eight years old to-day,
A stave of music that danced away
In a fairy's form,—a morning ray
Involved in vapors of misty pearl,
That flushed and throbbed in a dainty whirl,
Till it stepped to earth a living girl,