A little book of tribune verse A number of hitherto uncollected poems, grave and gay |
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EMMA ABBOTT'S BABY. |
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 | A little book of tribune verse |  |
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EMMA ABBOTT'S BABY.
Thy skin is of a scarlet hue,
Thou hast a shadow of a rose,
Thine eyes are milk and water blue,
Ten tiny dimples are thy toes.
Why wrinklest thou thy fuzzy face?
Why squirmest thou, as if in pain?
Has some sharp pin got out of place,
That thou dost whoop thy wild refrain?
Thou hast a shadow of a rose,
Thine eyes are milk and water blue,
Ten tiny dimples are thy toes.
Why wrinklest thou thy fuzzy face?
Why squirmest thou, as if in pain?
Has some sharp pin got out of place,
That thou dost whoop thy wild refrain?
Thou smellest like a pan of clabber,
And squallest like an hungry calf;
And yet they understand thy jabber,
Thy mother and her meaner half.
And yet, perhaps, the time will be,
When thou shalt fill a lofty place,
A tenor soaring up to C,
But just at present you are bass.
And squallest like an hungry calf;
And yet they understand thy jabber,
Thy mother and her meaner half.
And yet, perhaps, the time will be,
When thou shalt fill a lofty place,
A tenor soaring up to C,
But just at present you are bass.
(Attributed to) W. H. Bush.
September 8th, 1881.
| A little book of tribune verse | |