To My Daugher

TO MY DAUGHTER

Her kiss is warm upon my cheek,
She is not coy nor shy;
Her arms were clinging round my neck
When she bade me good-bye.

She whispers soft her love for me,
And I tell her of mine;
Sweetheart, no other maid could be
So dear a Valentine.

She loves me more than all the world;
Yet sadly I foresee,
As time rolls on, some other swain
May be preferred to me.

Were she sixteen, instead of three,
This little Daughter mine,
Another's vows might prove more dear
Than Papa's Valentine.

Walter Learned.