Classic Poem

Another baby-year is born,
As everybody heard this morn,
As fine a child as ever came,
Though every father says the same.
Just see him smile, and how he cries,
And how he dreams with open eyes,
And how he shuts them close to sleep
And opens them again to weep.
A little commonplace — perhaps!
But look in other people's laps
And find a better baby there
Than this that just begins to stare;
Get one will grow just half as fast
And show such shoulder breadth at last!
He'll live as much in one short day
As all the world at once, they say.
We mean to give him lots of school
And teach him not to be a fool;
And so when April comes he'll know
His way about the raree-show.
He'll sentimentalize in May,
And wander through the fields all day,
And doubtless — not a bit too soon —
He'll marry somebody in June,
We hope he'll make a name for work
When August apple-orchards smirk,
And fill the harvest garners up,
And brim September's cider-cup.
And if the rest of life he spends
Hobnobbing with his early friends
We'll never speak a word's complaint —
Besides he'll never bear restraint.
And more, and this is truly bad,
He'll be a glutton from a lad,
And surfeiting on Christmas pie
Before next New Year comes, he'll die!