Wee he is, and willful too,
With a bonny bright blue eye,
And a crown of golden curls
E'en the sunbeams cannot vie;
And, with royal mandate, he
Rules his house, and all his court
Humbly bow to his decree,
Heart and hand and word and thought.
Does he deign to lift his voice?
Silence reigns, that all may hear—
Pearls and rubies from his lips
Would not count as half so dear.
Will he have the crimson rose,
Bathed in beauty's purest blushes?
To the tree whereon it grows
Straight each willing vassal rushes,
All the robins sing their best
Should he chance to pass their way,
Smooth their plumage, raise their heads,
Trill a merry roundelay;
And, at night, the angel Sleep
Comes, with Dreamland in her train,
While the stars a vigil keep
Till the morning breaks again.