Polly

Brown eyes, straight nose;

Dirt pies, rumpled clothes.

Torn books, spoilt toys:

Arch looks, unlike a boy's;

Little rages, obvious arts;

(Three her age is), cakes, tarts;

Falling down off chairs;

Breaking crown down stairs;

Catching flies on the pane;

Deep sighs—cause not plain;

Bribing you with kisses

For a few farthing blisses.

Wide-a-wake; as you hear,

"Mercy's sake, quiet, dear!"

New shoes, new frock;

Vague views of what's o'clock

When it's time to go to bed,

And scorn sublime for what is said.

Folded hands, saying prayers,

Understands not nor cares—

Thinks it odd, smiles away;

Yet may God hear her pray!

Bed gown white, kiss Dolly;

Good night!—that's Polly.

Fast asleep, as you see,

Heaven keep my girl for me!