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THE LITTLE BROWN CURL.
And the children ran on the gravelled walk, At play in their noisy glee,But the maddest, merriest one just then Was nothing to John and me.
For he was a stately boy of twelve, And I was not quite eleven;We thought, as we sat in the parlor door, We had found the gate to heaven.
That night when I lay on my snowy bed, Like many a foolish girlI kissed and held to my little heart This letter and silken curl.
I slept and dreamed of the time when I Should wake to a fairy life;And sleeping blushed when I thought that John Had called me his little wife.
I have loved since then with a woman's heart, Have known all a woman's bliss,But never a dream of the after-life Was purer or sweeter than this.
