"PAPA, WHAT WOULD YOU TAKE FOR ME?"
By Eugene Field
SHE was ready to sleep, and she lay on my arm,
In her little frilled cap so fine,
With her golden hair falling out at the edge,
Like a circle of noon sunshine;
And I humm'd the old tune of "Banbury Cross,"
And "Three Men Who Put Out to Sea,"
When she sleepily said, as she closed her blue eyes,
"Papa, what would you take for me?" And I answered, "A dollar, dear little heart."
And she slept, baby weary with play;
But I held her warm in my loving, strong arms,
And I rocked her and rocked away.
O, the dollar meant all the world to me,
The land and the sea and the sky,
The lowest depth of the lowest place,
The highest of all that's high! All the cities, with streets and palaces,
With their people and stores of art,
I would not take for one low, soft throb
Of my little one's loving heart;
Nor all the gold that was ever found,
In the busy, wealth-finding past,
Would I take for a smile of my darling's face,
Did I know it must be the last. So I rocked my baby, and rocked away,
And I felt such a sweet content;
For the words of the song expressed more to me
Than they ever before had meant.
And the night crept on, and I slept and dream'd
Of things far too gladsome to be,
And I waken'd with lips saying close in my ear,
"Papa, what would you take for me?"
—Eugene Field.