Polly

Brown eyes,         Straight nose;     Dirt pies,         Rumpled clothes;     Torn books,         Spoilt toys;     Arch looks,         Unlike a boy's;     Little rages,       Obvious arts;   (Three her age is,)       Cakes, tarts;   Falling down       Off chairs;   Breaking crown       Down stairs;   Catching flies       On the pane;   Deep sighs,—       Cause not plain.   Bribing you       With kisses   For a few       Farthing blisses;   Wide awake,       As you hear,   "Mercy's sake,       Quiet, dear!"   New shoes,       New frock;   Vague views       Of what's o'clock   When it's time       To go to bed,   And scorn sublime       Of what is said;   Folded hands,       Saying prayers,   Understands       Not, nor cares;   Thinks it odd,       Smiles away;   Yet may God       Hear her pray!   Bedgown white,       Kiss Dolly;   Good-night!—       That's Polly,   Fast asleep,       As you see;   Heaven keep       My girl for me!