Ho-ho! little Baby with never a name,
I must put you in whole to the trumpet of fame,
For there’s no little word that, sounds it’s heard,
Will bring up this baby, & enter his claim.
You don’t look sad for lack of that handle
So very convenient to venders of scandal
To take a man by, for it’s nothing to you
Who are sweet as the lilies & pure as the dew;
Besides you are riches than we, I guess,
You’re a Good Man in Heaven! May it never be less!
And nameless as not we love you the same
As a gentle reminder of whence you came!
Yes, Baby is sweet, though I say it, who have him
And long would the bonny mouse
Flourish anonymous
If he should wait a name good enough for him!
But just at this handy date
Baby is candidate.
Rather for love than glory, I ween,
016
And I know he’ll be chosen
With notes by the dozen,
For kisses are ballots he’ll win like a queen!
From the top of his head to the tip of his toe
He’s just as pretty as babies grow,
And while his flesh is all aglow
From the water that makes my lily-bud blow,
I kiss him, & kiss him, – so! & so!
Up & down & over & round
Wherever a rosy spot is found;
I kiss him, & kiss him, & kiss him, so,
To loosen the satin & let him grow!
For you know, little Baby, as ought to know,
This pinky cover so soft & thin,
Which holds you in, & they call you skin,
Is a suit of satin overalls,
Hose & cap, & jacket & smalls,
In a single piece that fits like a glove,
‘Tis a gift of love
From the great Invisible Mother above,
Who wore it in tremors of hope & prayers,
Of pearly warp & a peach-blow filling,
With a thread of cares to toughen, by years,
The beautiful web to a kind of drilling.
I think I may well be proud, & bless
The Hand that fashioned this baby-dress
For though my darling is somewhat small
Compared with that curious fish they call
The World, afloat in its blue glass ball,
Or the golden flies that over it crawl, –
For him She weaves who clothed them all!
She trims the stars in their height galloon
The dawn in magenta, in ermine the moon,
The sun in a jacket of Gold, & the moon
In a white has mine; & a juice of green
She weaves for the earth & broiders it over
With roses & lilies, with daisies & clover,
But he weaves for Baby a silky skin,
That swells with the little soul within
That kisses & smiles to the surface win.
And sweetest to me of her garments fine,
Best of the best where all is divine,
Is the robe she gives that baby of mine!
The dear old Earth has a way to renew
Her garments worn, by the sun & the dew;
But kisses & smiles, my Baby for you!
My Baby too, has a smile of his own
A little smile that comes & goes
Like light in the heart of a wind snowy rose;
It glimmers & flits as if it shows
From the little luminous soul as it runs
From room to room of its new abode,
With love, & wonder, & joy at once,
And the curtains withdrawn that face the road!
Sissie, & I, & the baby, know
That this little fellow (not an hair to the crown,
For the top of his head, you see, is down!)
Of our best of United States is king;
We kneel to him, & we serve him so
As never would we a sceptered thing.
Mother in Premier; that, he it known,
Is the secret power behind the throne;
And Alie is councillor, privy or otherwise,
All at once grown old & motherwise;
She has the ear of the kingdom she pleases,
(In her thumb & finger, & when she squeezes
He squeals~ For your kings, of cradle or nation,
Protect against too much persuasion;)
And she lays her hand on his little cheek,
And looks, & wonders he does not speak;
And she lays her lip to his little lip,
Tenderly sweet, as a fay might sip
The dew from a sleeping rose-bud’s tip;
And you see that her nature has deepened away
To wonderful depths in a single day,
By the magic powers that Baby brings,
Beyond the might of sceptered kings.
Then bless the baby, & bless him again,
And kiss him forever, & once more then!
Toss him & dance him, the little Anonymous,
Calling him Sweet till we find him a name —,
Twisting his fingers up so in a funny mass,
Braiding, I guess was his trade, when he came!
But these little fingers all fall too short
To plait in a ten-strand braid of that sort.
This, little Baby, is Mother’s song;
And I, who frame it, one note prolong
From far away to give him a greeting
For love of the hearts in his young heart meeting,
And you all that purity born in the flesh,
So much of Eden returned us afresh.
I too, here in my dancing chime,
Catch up the Baby & sing him a rhyme,
With “kiss him & bless him, admire & caress him,
Bless his forbears & the mother who has him;
And bless all my babies, & bless all mothers,
And me & my own, with the myriad others!
Little Anonymous