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Archibald Lampman - To My Daughter
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O little one, daughter, my dearest,
   With your smiles and your beautiful curls,
 And your laughter, the brightest and clearest,
   O gravest and gayest of girls;

 With your hands that are softer than roses,
   And your lips that are lighter than flowers,
 And that innocent brow that discloses
   A wisdom more lovely than ours;

 With your locks that encumber, or scatter
   In a thousand mercurial gleams,
 And those feet whose impetuous patter
   I hear and remember in dreams;

 With your manner of motherly duty,
   When you play with your dolls and are wise;
 With your wonders of speech, and the beauty
   In your little imperious eyes;

 When I hear you so silverly ringing
   Your welcome from chamber or stair.
 When you run to me, kissing and clinging,
   So radiant, so rosily fair;

 I bend like an ogre above you;
   I bury my face in your curls;
 I fold you, I clasp you, I love you.
   O baby, queen-blossom of girls!
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