'Polly' By William Brighty Rands 1823-1882

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
For 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;
Goodnight! -
That's Polly,

Fast asleep,
As you see;
Heaven keep
My girl for me!