Earnest Baby! Baby Ernest!
Only six white moons ago
The white breast to which thou yearnest,
Tremulous brooded thee below.
By thy little red lips kissed,
Dinted by that dimpled fist,
Now it thrills thy weight to bear,—
Counterpoise of all its care!
Rosy Sweetness! Baby Ernest!
On the threshold of life's door.
Ever some new charm thou learnest.
Some new wile of baby lore!
Thy sweet lip,— that Cupid's bow
Curved so daintily,—can throw
Even now its silvery darts -
Life's first words to love's twin hearts!
"Papa!" "Mamma!" Baby Ernest,—
Not the songs of brook and bird
Seem so mellow, nor in sternest
Frost-air are so gladly heard;
No, for this thy warbled tune
Prophesies a sunnier June;
In thy budded speech unroll
Morning glimpses of a soul!
Round and ruddy, Baby Ernest,
In thy royal chariot drawn,
Eyes of full content thou turnest—
Liquid blue eyes of a fawn,—
Over all the bright, broad scene,
With such inward peace serene,
Not the ripple of a smile
To that sweet face can we wile!
Ah! but darling Baby Ernest,
Thou hast smiles enough, I trow,
Out of sleep when thou returnest
Ruddy with its Eden glow!
Not so sunny fleet appear
Ripples on a wind-kissed mere,
While thy glad eyes seem to keep
The dream-angels of thy sleep!
Blessings on thee, Baby Ernest!
All are servants at thy throne,—
Age, in fires of trial furnaced,
Youth, in Eden's flowery zone,
Bringing frankincense and myrrh,
Odorous loves, and silken stir
Of the white dove-wings of prayer
Thee to brood with tender care!
Baby Ernest