Thou happy, happy elf! ( But stop,— first let me kiss away that tear ) — Thou tiny image of myself! ( My love, he's poking peas into his ear! )
Thou merry, laughing sprite! With spirits feather-light, Untouch'd by sorrow, and unsoil'd by sin — ( Good heav'ns! the child is swallowing a pin! )
Thou little tricksy Puck! With antic toys so funnily bestuck, Light as the singing bird that wings the air — ( The door! the door! he'll tumble down the stair! )
Thou darling of thy sire! ( Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore a-fire! ) Thou imp of mirth and joy! In Love's dear chain so strong and bright a link,
Thou idol of thy parents — ( Drat the boy! There goes my ink! ) Thou cherub — but of earth; Fit playfellow for Fays, by moonlight pale,
In harmless sport and mirth, ( That dog will bite him if he pulls its tail! ) Thou human humming-bee, extracting honey From ev'ry blossom in the world that blows,
Singing in Youth's Elysium ever sunny, ( Another tumble!— that's his precious nose! ) Thy father's pride and hope! ( He'll break the mirror with that skipping-rope! )
With pure heart newly stamp'd from Nature's mint — ( Where did he learn that squint? ) Thou young domestic dove! ( He'll have that jug off, with another shove! )
Dear nurseling of the hymeneal nest! ( Are those torn clothes his best? ) Little epitome of man! ( He'll climb upon the table, that's his plan! )
Touch'd with the beauteous tints of dawning life — ( He's got a knife! ) Thou enviable being! No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing,
Play on, play on, My elfin John! Toss the light ball — bestride the stick — ( I knew so many cakes would make him sick! )
With fancies, buoyant as the thistle-down, Prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk, With many a lamb-like frisk, ( He's got the scissors, snipping at your gown! )
Thou pretty opening rose! ( Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose! ) Balmy and breathing music like the South, ( He really brings my heart into my mouth! )
Fresh as the morn, and brilliant as its star,— ( I wish that window had an iron bar! ) Bold as the hawk, yet gentle as the dove,— ( I'll tell you what, my love,
I cannot write, unless he's sent above! )
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