Baby Annie

Baby Annie wants the Moon!
    The great moon so round & still,
    Peeping o’er the window-sill;
And she thinks she’ll have it now!
See her eager fingers work;
    How their dimples come & go,
    As her plump hands flutter so,
Grasping at the silver cirque!

O, she thinks if she could reach
    Just a little more, that’s all,
    She would kick that shining ball
As her mamma picks a peach!
There! she has it! how she crows!
    No! it slipped her, – but there hinges
    Liquid moonlight on her fingers,
Like dew shaken from a rose!

Ah, but Baby Annie knows
    She can get it, if she tries,
    With her hungry mouth, as eyes,
Or her fingers, or her toes!
For they all lay hold & clinch
    With a fluttering eagerness,
    Seeming only just to miss
By the fraction of an inch!

Baby Annie wins her prize;
    Though the round moon slips away,
    All its light & beauty stay,
Held by foot, & hand, & eyes!
Stretching to the things afar
    Little bosoms swell with vigor,
    Little hearts within grow bigger,
Winning more than moon & star.

Baby Annie there are many
    Fully grown, who in the blue
    Seek, as eagerly as you,
Things beyond the reach of any!
If as purely seeking, surely
    They shall find, as late as noon;
    All the whiteness of the moon
Through their white souls smile demurely.