1913
My Treasure
How joyous my little children are!
Not knowing how poor their father is,
Their voices are carefree and gay.
On a warm spring night
When it gently rains,
I gather my children in a room
And promise them a cherry-viewing party.
When my innocent ones
With their bright ruddy cheeks
Press about me,
How, indeed, can I complain
That I am poor?
Silent House
Seven children of mine
Have gone out to play;
With a vase of camellias
I sit alone in the house.
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