Who can tell what Baby thinks?
_I can, I!_
Who knows what she means when she crows or blinks?
_I do, I!_
She thinks that a picture is good to eat,
_She does, she!_
She thinks she should love to swallow her feet.
_Hah, hah, he!_
She thinks when I touch the piano-keys,
_La, si, do!_
That _I_ make the noise, as I do when I sneeze.
_Hah, hah, hoh!_
When I put her fat hand on the key-board shelf,
_Do, re, mi!_
She fancies she makes the noise herself.
_She, sir, she!_
She thinks she could swallow the lamp entire.
_Flame, flame, flame!_
She thinks she should like to cuddle the fire.
(_Same, same, same!_)
I wished her a pair of leather shoes--
_I did, did!_
Nothing like leather--and riper views.
_Kid, kid, kid!_
But whether the wit or the leather comes first,
(_Post, hoc, hoc!_)
One thing I know--she _will_ be nursed.
_Rock, rock, rock!_
And Baby’s mamma is a beautiful nurse,
_Joy, joy, joy_!
She might go farther and fare much worse,
_With a boy, boy, boy_!
For though I have studied her wits and ways,
_Bye-bye-bye_!
I couldn’t take charge of her, nights and days.
_Cry, cry, cry_!
[Illustration]