Half a dozen children At our house! Half a dozen children Quiet as a mouse,
Quiet as a moonbeam, You could hear a pin — Waiting for the party To begin.
Such a flood of flounces! ( Oh dear me! ) Such a surge of sashes Like a silken sea.
Little eyes demurely Cast upon the ground, Little airs and graces All around.
High time for that party To begin! To sit so any longer Were a sort of sin;
As if you were n't acquainted With society. What a thing to tell of That would be!
Up spoke a little lady Aged five; “I‘ ve tumbled up my over-dress, Sure as I‘ m alive!
My dress came from Paris; We sent to Worth for it; Mother says she calls it Such a fit!”
Quick there piped another Little voice — “I did n't send for dresses, Though I had my choice;
I have got a doll that Came from Paris too; It can walk and talk as Well as you!”
Still, till now, there sat one Little girl; Simple as a snow-drop, Without flounce or curl.
Modest as a primrose, Soft, plain hair brushed back, But the color of her dress was Black — all black.
Swift she glanced around with Sweet surprise; Bright and grave the look that Widened in her eyes.
To entertain the party She must do her share, As if God had sent her Stood she there;
Stood a minute, thinking, With crossed hands How she best might meet the Company's demands.
Grave and sweet the purpose To the child's voice given:— “I have a little brother Gone to Heaven!”
On the little party Dropped a spell; All the little flounces Rustled where they fell;
But the modest maiden In her mourning gown, Unconscious as a flower, Looketh down.
Quick my heart besought her, Silently. “Happy little maiden, Give, O give to me
The highness of your courage, The sweetness of your grace, To speak a large word, in a Little place.”
Cookies on Poetry Cove