Page:All quiet along the Potomac and other poems.djvu/348

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How I smote Bumble-bee with my kerchief,

And tore up the lily he stole ! But was glad, all the while, to remember

Wee Hum-bird had never a soul.


A ROSE-CURTAINED cradle, Where, nestled within Soft cambric and flannel, Lie pounds seventeen, Is the throne of a. tyrant ; . That pink little thing Is an autocrat august, For Baby is king.

Good, solemn grandfather

Dares hardly to speak Or walk, lest the sleeper

Should hear his boots creak ; Grandma is a martyr

In habits and cap, W T hich the monarch unsettles

As well as her nap.

Papa, wise and mighty, Just home from the House,

Grows meek on the threshold, And moves like a mouse

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