 | Poetry for children |  |
32
Child of sixteen months old to a Cousin in Boston.
My Cousin, dear,
I almost fear
To write to you;
So rare your wit
'Tis surely fit,
My words be few.
I almost fear
To write to you;
So rare your wit
'Tis surely fit,
My words be few.
Your native coast
Has much to boast
Of glorious name;
Both antique lore
And modern store
Uphold its fame.
Has much to boast
Of glorious name;
Both antique lore
And modern store
Uphold its fame.
You're proud, I fear,
In Boston, dear;
I wish you would
Just come and share
Our country fare,
'Twill do you good.
In Boston, dear;
I wish you would
Just come and share
Our country fare,
'Twill do you good.
33
Our rustic ways
And boisterous plays
Perhaps might fright you;
But the sweet birds
And lambs, and herds
Must sure delight you.
And boisterous plays
Perhaps might fright you;
But the sweet birds
And lambs, and herds
Must sure delight you.
Pray give with this
A Christmas kiss
To aunties, three;
And love to all,
Both great and small,
Who think of me.
A Christmas kiss
To aunties, three;
And love to all,
Both great and small,
Who think of me.
'Tis time that I
My cradle try,
Nurse takes the light,
And strains her ken,
To snatch my pen,
So, love, good night.
My cradle try,
Nurse takes the light,
And strains her ken,
To snatch my pen,
So, love, good night.
| Poetry for children | |