Sweet Chatterbox, ’t is thou that hast beguiled
My fancy, as it drew the little child
Who in these pages lives; her gentle ways
Are but the reflex of thy round of days.
The trip of syllable I held so dear,
And all thy small remarks, are treasured here—
Charmed by the alchemy of love to stay
The while thy blissful childhood slips away.
Kind little heart, that knows no selfish thought,
Read here the tale that thou, thyself, hast wrought!