p. 9 | A POEM by Nellie C. Davis

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Apr 22, 1897

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 23, No. 16.

A POEM.

By Nellie C. Davis

A WEE golden head on my bosom, A roguish and dimpled, sweet face, A pair of brown eyes full of laughter, A tiny form fraught with rare grace, Two soft, dimpled arms that enfold me In a wild burst of merry delight, And red lips that shower me with kisses, As she "loves me with all her might—"

You may talk of the wonderful beauty Of poems in rhythm and rhyme, Of the subtle thought and the meaning Of stanzas and meter and time; But to me they appear cold and empty, A mere waste of words and of space, When I read them while holding my darling, So winsome with beauty and grace.

Ah, for me no poem e'er written Could waken such thrills of pure joy, Such thoughts of love and thanksgiving, Such blisses, too sweet for alloy.

The soft, dimpled hands of my baby Have opened a new realm for me, Where she, as a sweet, breathing poem, Is the essence of melody. —Nellie C. Davis, in the Housekeeper.