 | The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury |  |
TO EMMA, THREE YEARS OLD.
My youngest and my loveliest, my darling little one,
E'en to a stranger's eye thy face is fair to look upon;
With thy bright locks, thy snowy brow, thine eyes so clearly blue,
And thy soft velvet lip that seems a rosebud moist with dew.
E'en to a stranger's eye thy face is fair to look upon;
With thy bright locks, thy snowy brow, thine eyes so clearly blue,
And thy soft velvet lip that seems a rosebud moist with dew.
But to a mother's heart how dear is every childish grace;
How do I love each opening germ of loveliness to trace;
To hear thee lisp each new-found word, or gaze with sweet surprise
On all the wonders that each day discovers to thine eyes.
How do I love each opening germ of loveliness to trace;
To hear thee lisp each new-found word, or gaze with sweet surprise
On all the wonders that each day discovers to thine eyes.
Yet sweeter to a mother's hope, my little one, to see
That look of gentle gravity steal o'er thy face of glee;
It tells the hidden wealth o'er which thy young glad thoughts now flow,
As quiet streams reveal how deep their current runs below.
That look of gentle gravity steal o'er thy face of glee;
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As quiet streams reveal how deep their current runs below.
| The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury | |