Classic Poem

I hold it a religious duty
To love and worship children's beauty;
They've least the taint of earthly clod,
They're freshest from the land of God;
With heavenly looks they make us sure
The heaven that made them must be pure;
We love them not in earthly fashion,
But with a beatific passion.

I chanced to yesterday behold
A maiden child of beauty's mould;
'Twas near, more sacred was the scene,
The palace of our patriot Queen.
The little charmer to my view
Was sculpture brought to life anew.
Her eyes had a poetic glow,
Her pouting mouth was Cupid's bow:
And through her frock I could descry
Her neck and shoulders' symmetry.
'Twas obvious from her walk and gait
Her limbs were beautifully straight;
I stopped th' enchantress, and was told
Though tall she was but four years old.
Her guide so grave an aspect wore
I could not ask a question more;
But followed her. The little one
Threw backward ever and anon
Her lovely neck, as if to say,
‘I know you love me, Mister Gray;’
For by its instinct childhood's eye
Is shrewd in physiognomy;
They well distinguish fawning art
From sterling fondness of the heart.

And so she flirted, like a true
Good woman, till we bade adieu.
'Twas then I with regret grew wild:
Oh, beauteous, interesting child!
Why asked I not thy home and name?
My courage failed me—more 's the shame.
But where abides this jewel rare?
Oh, ye that own her, tell me where!
For sad it makes my heart and sore
To think I ne'er may meet her more.