Aunty’s Answer
My child, you come, and ask me why,
The reason why I stared at you?—
Ah, darling, one can use her eye!—
Nay, did I stare?—You saw me too?
I stared, then, at these great round eyes;
And thought of all that each would see,
Of all the cares, and all the cries,
Ere you were old, you sprite, like me.
And then I saw these tiny ears,
And thought of how they both would grow,
And thrill and tremble, ere the years
Had taught them all they had to know.
I saw these dainty limbs here, too,
That run and jump and snatch and throw;
And thought how little mine can do—
Ah me, not always was it so!
And what of these things?—Nothing, dear.
You ask’d me only, that is all;
And old is aunty, old and queer;
So kiss me, child, and catch the ball.
Alas, the darling!—How could I
Tell her the thought?—It touch’d me so
To think how—were she but to die
Before she learn’d it all, you know.