To Anna Three Years Old
My Anna, summer laughs in mirth, And we will of the party be, And leave the crickets in the hearth For green fields' merry minstrelsy....
This is a poetry & verse.
My Anna, summer laughs in mirth, And we will of the party be, And leave the crickets in the hearth For green fields' merry minstrelsy. I see thee now with little hand Catch at each object passing bye, The happiest thing in all the land Except the bee and butterfly. And limpid brook that leaps along, Gilt with the summer's burnished gleam, Will stop thy little tale or song To gaze upon its crimping stream.…
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