Wide solemn eyes that question me, <br />Wee hand that pats my head— <br />Where only two have stroked before, <br />And both of them are dead. <br />‘Ah, poo-ah Daddy mine,’ she says, <br />With wondrous sympathy— <br />Oh, baby girl, you don’t know how <br />You break the heart in me! <br />Let friends and kinsfolk work their worst, <br />And the world say what it will, <br />Your baby arms go round my neck— <br />I’m your own Daddy still! <br />And you kiss me and I kiss you, <br />Fresh kisses frank and free— <br />Ah, baby girl, you don’t know how <br />You break the heart in me! <br /> <br />I dreamed when I was good that when <br />The snow showed in my hair, <br />A household angel in her teens <br />Would flit about my chair, <br />To comfort me as I grew old; <br />But that shall never be— <br />Ah, baby girl, you don’t know how <br />You break the heart in me! <br /> <br />But one shall love me while I live <br />And soothe my troubled head, <br />And never hear an unkind word <br />Of me when I am dead. <br />Her eyes shall light to hear my name <br />Howe’er disgraced it be— <br />Ah, baby girl, you don’t know how <br />You help the heart in me!<br /><br />Henry Lawson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/barta/
