At the Bars of Memory and Other Poems/To a Baby
TO A BABY
There's a something 'bout you, little chap,
That just makes me wish that you
Belonged to me—don't know what it is,
Unless it's your eyes o' blue
An' your little kewpie lips that curl
Like a rose bud damp with dew.
Maybe it's your little nose.
An' might be your pinkish ears,
An' maybe it's your soft, white cheeks
Where time will yet trace the years;
An' per'aps it's your gurglin' little laugh
When kisses have dried your tears.
There's a something bout you, little chap,
That I can't quite understand;
An' the heart o' me just seems to thrill
When your fingers clutch my hand,
An' a sort o' yearnin' fills my soul …
A hunger I can't command.
An' when you're dreamin' safe in your crib.
An' the house is wrapp'd in sleep,
I leave my work an' tip-toe soft
Cross the room to take a peep
At your sweet little features an' sometimes
I kiss you … an' then feel cheap!
An' then I go back to my study,
An' the scratchin' o' my pen
Is stilled in fond retrospection
Of sweet things that might have been;
An' a tear soils the ill-penned pages …
An' I am myself again!