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15
TO OUR BABY KATE.
A REVERIE.
Marvel, baby, 'tis to meWhat thy little thoughts can be,
What the meanings small, that reach
Hearing in thy mites of speech,
Sayings that no language know
More than coo, and cry, and crow,
Would-be words, that hide away
All that they themselves would say,
Tiny fancies courting sight,
Masked from all in shrouding night;
Fain its secret I'd beguile
From the mystery of thy smile;
Fain would fathom all that lies
In thy pleasure and surprise,
In the fancies flitting through
Those two eyes of wondering blue,
In thy starts and tiny fears,
Gleams of joy and fleeting tears.
Ah, in vain I seek to win
Way to the small life within!
Curious thought no clue can find
To that wondrous world, thy mind,
That its little sights hath shown
Unto fancy's gaze alone;
Therefore do I converse hold
Oft with fancy, to unfold
All the marvels of its seeing,
Wordless mysteries of thy being;
Then of all seen things it tells,
Unto thee, high miracles;
How thy baby fancy lingers,
Wondering minutes, o'er thy fingers,
Or, still marvelling more and more,
Eyes thy pinked feet o'er and o'er;
How the world and all things seem
Airy shadows of a dream,
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Out to which thy graspings feel
Wavering stretchings, marvelling much
At the mystery of a touch;
How with little shout thou'dst pass
To thy likeness in the glass,
Or thy little talks are told
Unto all thou dost behold,
Guessed-at griefs and baby joys
Crowed to busy sister's toys,
Or, in murmurings low, rehearsed
To the kitten for thee nursed.
So with fancy do I dream,
Baby mine, until I seem
All the little thoughts to know,
All thy little acts below,
Till thought comes and bids me own
That I dream and dream alone.
Yet one surety lies above
Reason's doubtings—thine is love,
Love abundant, leaping out
In thy lighted look and shout,
In thy joy that sorrow dumbs,
In thy bubbling laugh that comes
Ever still with glad surprise
When thy mother meets thine eyes.
Love is in thy eager watch
Ever strained her form to catch,
In thy glance that, place to place,
Tracks the gladness of her face,
In thy hush of joy that charms
Cries to stillness in her arms,
Calms of rapture, blessing, blest,
Rosy nestlings in her breast,
Dreaming eyes for ever raising
Raptured gazes to her gazing,
Gaze so blessed, sure we deem
Heaven is in thy happy dream.
So our love would have it be
Ever, little Kate, with thee;
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Ever, baby, thine be love,
Love, that doubly-mirrored lives
In the smiles it wins and gives,
Love, that gives to life its worth,
Lending glory to the earth.
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