To My Ten-years-old


On thy cheek the roses lie;

Lilies, on thy forehead fair;

Violets blue, in each bright eye,

Sunbeams, in thy golden hair.



Pearls, within thy coral lips,

Ears and nostrils, crystal-clear,

Dainty, sea-shell finger tips,

Form, a sylph might love to wear.



Yet no beauty, thou, my child,

Save as filled with inward grace;

Save a spirit, undefiled,

Warm thy heart and wreathe thy face.



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