To My Daughter

O little one, daughter, my dearest,     With your smiles and your beautiful curls,     And your laughter, the brightest and clearest,     O gravest and gayest of girls;     With your hands that are softer than roses,     And your lips that are lighter than flowers,     And that innocent brow that discloses     A wisdom more lovely than ours;     With your locks that encumber, or scatter     In a thousand mercurial gleams,     And those feet whose impetuous patter     I hear and remember in dreams;     With your manner of motherly duty,     When you play with your dolls and are wise;     With your wonders of speech, and the beauty     In your little imperious eyes;     When I hear you so silverly ringing     Your welcome from chamber or stair.     When you run to me, kissing and clinging,     So radiant, so rosily fair;     I bend like an ogre above you;     I bury my face in your curls;     I fold you, I clasp you, I love you.     O baby, queen-blossom of girls!