 | Short poems for short people |  |
HARRY'S CURLS.
How glad, little Harry,
Your hazel eyes glow,
As one after one, child,
The sweet curls go!
You 're happy to part from
This soft sunny hair
That made your wee shoulders
So bonnily fair.
Your hazel eyes glow,
As one after one, child,
The sweet curls go!
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This soft sunny hair
That made your wee shoulders
So bonnily fair.
Perhaps papa 's right, dear;
You 're too old a boy
To wear these rich ringlets
I wound with such joy.
So cut, cruel scissors,
With sharp clicking sound,
As, ringlet by ringlet,
They fall to the ground.
You 're too old a boy
To wear these rich ringlets
I wound with such joy.
So cut, cruel scissors,
With sharp clicking sound,
As, ringlet by ringlet,
They fall to the ground.
Ah, Harry, I envy
Your light-hearted glee;
It 's well to be merry—
Mamma cannot be!
Each curl as it falls, dear,
Is something that tells
Of drearier changes,
More solemn farewells.
Your light-hearted glee;
It 's well to be merry—
Mamma cannot be!
Each curl as it falls, dear,
Is something that tells
Of drearier changes,
More solemn farewells.
I see you so altered
From what you are now,
With time 's many troubles
To shadow your brow.
Believe it, my Harry,
Whose laughter rings bold,
'T is not, after all, dear,
Such fun to grow old!
From what you are now,
With time 's many troubles
To shadow your brow.
Believe it, my Harry,
Whose laughter rings bold,
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Such fun to grow old!
I fancy the scissors
That flash in my hand
Are working more mischief
Than you understand.
Yes, love, with each ringlet
So severed, I seem
To steal your life's sunshine
In beam after beam!
That flash in my hand
Are working more mischief
Than you understand.
Yes, love, with each ringlet
So severed, I seem
To steal your life's sunshine
In beam after beam!
| Short poems for short people | |