html.skin-theme-clientpref-night @media(prefers-color-scheme:dark){html.skin-theme-clientpref-os }IMELY blossom, infant fair,
Fondling of a happy pair,
Every morn, and every night,
Their felicitous delight,4
Sleeping, waking, still at ease,
Pleasing, without skill to please,
Little gossip, blithe and hale,
Tailing many a broken tale,8
Singing many a tuneless song,
Lavish of a heedless tongue,
Simple maiden, void of art,
Babbling out the very heart,12
Yet abandon'd to thy will,
Yet imagining no ill,
Yet too innocent to blush,
Like the linlet in the bush,16
To the Mother-linnet's note
Moduling her slender throat,
Chirping forth thy petty joys,
Wanton in the change of toys, 20
Like the linnet green, in May,
Flitting to each bloomy spray,
Wearied then, and glad of rest,
Like the linlet in the nest. 24
This thy present happy lot,
This, in time, will be forgot:
O her pleasures, other cares,
Ever-busy time prepares; 28
And thou shalt in thy daughter see,
This picture, once, resembled thee.