Close on my heart was resting
A sunny golden head,
As the dim gray of the twilight
Crept round with noiseless tread.
“Tell me a‘ tory, mamma,”
The blue-eyed baby said,
“About some itty birdie
In za itty birdie bed.
“‘ Bout fen oo was itty
An'ze mens was walkin’ hay
An’ found free ittie birdies
Wiz za muzzer don away.”
“Some other time, my darling;
Mamma's tired now.”
A shade of disappointment
Swept over the baby's brow.
The dear blue eyes grew misty;
O, lips that lived to blame,
That kissed and whispered “sometime” —
That “sometime” never came.
Again, the dim, gray twilight
Creeps round with noiseless tread,
But on my heart is resting
No sunny golden head.
No sweet voice pleads with mamma
“Tell me a‘ tory” now,
And only death can take away
The shadow on my brow.