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.