TO MY SON, AGED THREE YEARS AND FIVE MONTHS
Thomas Hood
Thou happy, happy elf!
(But stop,-first let me kiss that tear)-
Thou tiny image of myself!
(My love, he’s poking peas into his ear!)
Thou merry laughing sprite!
With spirits feather light,
Untouched by sorrow and unsoiled by sin-
(Good Heavens! the child is swallowing a pin!)
Thou little tricksey Puck!
With antic toys so funnily bestuck!
Light as the singing bird that wings the air-
(The door! The door! he’ll tumble down the stair!)
Thou darling of thy sire!
(Why Jane, he’ll set his pinafore afire!)
Thou imp of mirth and joy!
In love’s dear chain, so strong and bright a link,
Thou idol of thy parents-(Drat the boy!
There goes my ink!)
Thy father’s pride and hope!
(he’ll break the mirror with that skipping rope!)
With pure heart newly stamped with Nature’s mint-
(Where did her learn that squint?)
Thou young domestic dove!
(He’ll have that jug off with another shove!)
Dear nursling of the Ilymeneal nest!
(Are those torn clothes his best?)
Little epitome of a man!
(He’ll climb upon the table,that’s his plan!)
Touched with th beauteous hints of dawning life
(He’s got a knife!)
Thou pretty opening rose!
(Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose!)
Balmy and breathing music like the South,
(He really brings my heart into my mouth!)
Fresh as the morn, brilliant as it’s star,-
(I wish that window had an iron bar!)
Bold as the hawk, yet gentle as the dove,-
(I’ll tell you what my love,
I cannot write unless he’s sent above!)