Well, it sounds very funny to read it
When I've heard the dear grandfather snore!
Did it seem just as charming to grandma
As Charlie's dear letters to me,
When he writes of devotion and worship.
And "bliss" with a proper-sized "b"?
Will somebody, some time, be reading
With wonder the words I hold dear?
Will Twenty look backward at Threescore,
Pronouncing its love-record queer?
MY NAMESAKE.
AH! never you'll guess, little baby,
How fair are the visions I weave—
How earnest the wishes I whisper,
How loving the kisses I leave
On lids like a late-folded rose-leaf,
On nestled cheek downy and warm,
On mouth with its small dream aquiver,
On fingers and vague battling arm.
This kiss I lay softly and slowly,
And weigh it down thus, with a prayer
That a God-given guerdon of blessing
May go with the name[1] you shall bear—
- ↑ "Ethel"—noble. [Sax. Obs.]
