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Edgar Guest - Little FeetEdgar Guest - Little Feet
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There is no music quite so sweet As patter of a baby`s feet. Who never hears along the hall The sound of tiny feet that fall Upon the floor so soft and low As eagerly they come or go, Has missed, no matter who he be, Life`s most inspiring symphony. There is a music of the spheres Too fine to ring in mortal ears, Yet not more delicate and sweet Than pattering of baby feet; Where`er I hear that pit-a-pat Which falls upon the velvet mat, Out of my dreamy nap I start And hear the echo in my heart. `Tis difficult to put in words The music of the summer birds, Yet far more difficult a thing— A lyric for that pattering; Here is a music telling me Of golden joys that are to be; Unheralded by horns and drums, To me a regal caller comes, Now on my couch I lie and hear A little toddler coming near, Coming right boldly to my place To pull my hair and pat my face, Undaunted by my age or size, Nor caring that I am not wise— A visitor devoid of sham Who loves me just for what I am. This soft low music tells to me In just a minute I shall be Made captive by a thousand charms, Held fast by chubby little arms, For there is one upon the way Who thinks the world was made for play. Oh, where`s the sound that`s half so sweet As pattering of baby feet?
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