Poetry. The Ballad of the Baby.
Bald of head and red In the face, I'm only a baby, weak and small ; A bundle of flannel and bib and lace ; But don't, I beg, into error fall, For there's not a thing on this earthly ball, Or big or little, or old or new, That holds the world in completer thrall ; Come list to the deeds that I can do. I can shriek a shriek to redd all apace, Can choke myself with my broidered shawl ; Can send my nurse on a frantic chase For pins that never were there at all. I can make my pa, so brave and tall, Say curious words, just one or two, As he walks the floor to hush my pquall ; Come, list to the deeds that I can do I can coo and coo with tender grace, And bring my subjects at beck and call, With cunning smile and a soft embrace, While into mischief I straightway crawl ; My mamma's anger I can forestall, I can patty-cake andean peek-a-boo, I can charm, enslave, delude, appall ; Come, list to the deeds that I can do. ENVOY. With my tiny hands I can build life's wall As true and strong as the skies are blue ; I am the monarch o< hut and hall ; Come, list to the deeds that I can do. — Garlotta Perry.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/WT18850228.2.30
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Waikato Times, Volume XXIV, Issue 1973, 28 February 1885, Page 5 (Supplement)
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228Poetry. The Ballad of the Baby. Waikato Times, Volume XXIV, Issue 1973, 28 February 1885, Page 5 (Supplement)
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