OUR LITTLE PRINCE

“LITTLE CHARLEY is a prince,”
 So we said in joyous pride,
As we loitered side by side,
Where the roses bloomed and died,
Half a dozen summers since.

He was rustling through the leaves,
Where the golden tassels swayed,
Half in pleasure, half afraid,
Hiding in the furrowed shade,
Where the August cricket grieves.

Silken tassels on the corn,
Silken curls about his head;
“Which is which?” we laughing said;
While the sun a glory shed
On the curls and tasseled corn.

Saxon eyes and face and hair,
Saxon blood in every vein,
Cheeks like roses after rain;
Never shall we see again
Childish loveliness so rare.

When the apple and the quince
All their summer fragrance shed,
How we miss our darling dead;
How we miss the curly head
Of our lovely little prince.

Little Charley was a prince—
But, somebody in the sky
Had more need of him than I,
So we laid him down to die
Half a dozen summers since.