Poems (Truesdell)/To my Little Niece
TO MY LITTLE NIECE.
Thou art sporting amid the flowers, sweet child, And a lovely flower art thou; The rose is budding upon thy cheek, And the lily upon thy brow.
Thine eyes are as dark as the bright gazelle's, But of just as soft a hue As the violet when it folds its leaves, 'Neath the starlight and the dew.
Thou art sporting on, in thy guilelessness, That free and joyous thing—A happy child, ere the cares of earth A shade o'er thy brow can fling.
Long, long mayst thou be a child at heart, As gladsome and as free As now thou art, my little niece, In the days of thy childhood's glee!