'Tis difficult to put in words

The music of the summer birds,

Yet far more difficult a thing—

A lyric for that pattering;

Here is a music telling me

Of golden joys that are to be;

Unheralded by horns and drums,

To me a regal caller comes.[Pg 47]

[Pg 47]

Now on my couch I lie and hear

A little toddler coming near,

Coming right boldly to my place

To pull my hair and pat my face,

Undaunted by my age or size,

Nor caring that I am not wise—

A visitor devoid of sham

Who loves me just for what I am.

This soft low music tells to me

In just a minute I shall be

Made captive by a thousand charms,

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