One little head, Ah! but what does it hold?
No matter,--it's worth its whole weight in pure gold.
Two big brown eyes, soft with Heaven's own dew;
No diamonds so precious, so sparkling, so true.
Three cunning dimples, one deep in her chin,
And one in each cheek--Ah! they're just twin and twin.
Four little fingers to clutch mamma's hair,
But sweeter than honeycomb, even when there.
Five, we may call it, with little Tom Thumb,
And that fist in her mouth is as sweet as a plum.
Six wonderful pearls her bright coral lips hide,
And the Kohinoor's nothing these pure pearls beside.
Seven brown wavelets are ever in motion,
And silken floss to them is naught, to our notion.
Eight little giggles run over with glee--
And more if you call them, so merry is she.
Nine songs, (they're Greek tho' to all but mamma),
Make us think she is destined, an Opera Star.
Ten toddling steps, but to us full of grace,
For our babe in our hearts ever holds the first place.