Poems (Truesdell)/To my Little Niece

by Helen Truesdell

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!