I have a puppet-jointed child, br She's but three half-years old; br Through lawless hair her eyes gleam wild br With looks both shy and bold. br br Like little imps, her tiny hands br Dart out and push and take; br Chide her-a trembling thing she stands, br And like two leaves they shake. br br But to her mind a minute gone br Is like a year ago; br And when you lift your eyes anon, br Anon you must say br No br ! br br Sometimes, though not oppressed with care, br She has her sleepless fits; br Then, blanket-swathed, in that round chair br The elfish mortal sits;- br br Where, if by chance in mood more grave, br A hermit she appears br Propped in the opening of his cave, br Mummied almost with years; br br Or like an idol set upright br With folded legs for stem, br Ready to hear prayers all the night br And never answer them. br br But where's the idol-hermit thrust? br Her knees like flail-joints go! br Alternate kiss, her mother must, br Now that, now this big toe! br br I turn away from her, and write br For minutes three or four: br A tiny spectre, tall and white, br She's standing by the door! br br Then something comes into my head br That makes me stop and think: br She's on the table, the quadruped, br And dabbling in my ink! br br O Elfie, make no haste to lose br Thy ignorance of offence! br Thou hast the best gift I could choose, br A heavenly confidence. br br 'Tis time, long-white-gowned Mrs. Ham, br To put you in the ark! br Sleep, Elfie, God-infolded lamb, br Sleep shining through the dark.