Ho, ho! little Treasure, they say its their pleasure
To set you in rhyme to some musical measure,
That I must indite it, evoke it, and write it
That Aunties and Mamma may sing or recite it!
Well, Boy! as the aureate crown that I glory at
Crowns me of all the Good Babies the Laureate,
I seize for the service of Mamma, and Hervey’s
My Harp (a steel pen!) and dance off like a dervis! [sic]
So fresh out of yonder mid-regions of Wonder
You come bringing Heaven to the denizens under,
Your tongue cannot utter the visions that flatter
And flock through your pretty brown head in a clutter!
So jerking and fisting, and working and twisting
Your fingers, you make the mate[?] signs for assisting
Our fancies to guess what image in less
You’ve formed of this orld, and desire to express.
Talk on little Ralph, abit, with your dumb alphabet,
Truly, I guess, I can guess about half of it!
Signs so significant pity’tis if I can’t
Though to report em, if rhymes are too stiff, I can’t.
Might this what you say be? “Whatever it may be,
There is nothing on earth too good for a Baby!
Those people above me, who tumble and shove me
Ere made just a purpose to hug me and love me!
“And Mamma, - dear me! if it wasn’t for she – “
(The Grammar is Baby’s!) this world wouldn’t be!
And Pap’s, I mind, are a pretty good kind
Of company when there are whiskers to find!
“Are you a beginner who wants a good dinner?
Just gnaw a glass bullet, it never grows thinner!
And thimbles for crunching are rather sweet luncheon,
And spools without thread are quite durable munching.
“O the World to a rover is such a ways over,
It stretches afar from the stove to the sofa!
On its carpeted floor, if I try to explore
I find that I get further off than before.
“If I had but known, I would have come down
With my cherub wings on! Then ho I’d have flown!
You’d have thought that yon Ralph was a pretty gay elf!
And, Mamma, I guess you would like it yourself!”
Yes, dear little Thing, we know by the swing
Of your featherless arms how you’d go on the wing!
But are gladder by far that you are as you are,
Than to see you wild-goose chasing after a star!
Now safe in our keeping proceed with your creeping!
And so by and by go running and leaping
‘Tis joy to possess you and bliss to caress you –
And Baby’s gray lover sings gladly to bless you!
George Shepard Burleigh
