Dear Bessie came to visit me, just nine years past last May:
Beneath the hawthorn blossoms, hearts full of childish bliss,
We vowed eternal friendship, and sealed it with a kiss;
And I plucked a bright pink rosebud to fasten in her dress—
She was six years old that summer, was dear little brown-eyed Bess.
I remember very little of all she said to me,
But I know we loved each other with childish love and free;
I remember romping gaily around some little ricks,
And fondly giving Bessie a tiny box of bricks;
I remember our long, long parting one autumn afternoon,