~Why I Love Them.~


I would tell thee of Stella, how she made glad the hours,
So oft calling mother with strewn wreaths and flowers,
Blue eyes fondly glancing, and gleefully dance,
While singing so gayly or skipping, perchance.

Then comes my son Ernest, an affectionate boy,
So true and so thoughtful, never aught but a joy,
E'er steady and happy, eyes earnest and clear;
His dear voice so merry, methinks I still hear.

I would say of Marie, that she is very fair,
With ways of a lady, and golden-waved hair;
She scolds and laughs sweetly, while people all tell,
With curls and long lashes, she'll yet be a belle.

Then rosy-cheeked Bertha, whose housewifely care
And womanly habits call forth praises rare;
Small, winsome maiden, whose large, tender heart,
To blame makes thee timid, thy tears swift to start.

Tall, slender Celesta, whose spiritual face,
And excelling talents could a palace well grace;
Five faces so pretty, eyes brighter than gems,