Glasgow Weekly Times

TWO YEARS OLD.

BY C. S. PERCIVAL.

Playing on the carpet near me
Is a little cherub girl:
And her presence, much I fear me,
Sets my senses in a whirl;
For a book is open lying
Full of grave philosophying,
And I own I'm vainly trying
There my thoughts to hold;
But in spite of my essaying
They evermore be straying
To that cherub near me playing.
Only two years old.

Within her hair so long and golden,
And her sunny eyes of blue,
And her cheek so plump and rosy,
She is charming to the view,
Then her voice, to all who hear it,
Breathed a sweet, entrancing spirit—
O! to be forever near it
Is a joy untold';
For 'tis ever sweetly telling
To my heart with rapture swelling—
Of affection inly dwelling
Only two years old.

With a new delight I'm hearing
All her sweet attempts at words,
In their melody endearing
Sweeter far than any bird's;
And the musical mistaking
Which her baby lips are making
For my heart a charm waking,
Firmer in its hold
Than the charm so rich and glowing
From the Roman's lip o'erflowing;
Then she gives a look so knowing—
Only two years old!

Now her ripe and honeyed kisses
(Honeyed, ripe for me alone,)
Thrill my soul with varied blisses
Venus never yet has known.
When her twining arms are round me
All domestic joy hath crowned me,
And a fervent spell hath bound me,
Never to grow cold.
O! there is not this side of Eden,
Aught with loveliness so laden
As my little cherub maiden,
Only two years old!