When the baby's eyes are blue,
Think we of a summer day,
Violets, and dancing rills.
When the baby's eyes are gray,
Doves and dawn are brought to mind.
Brown—of gentle fawns we dream,
And ripe nuts in shady woods.
Black—of midnight skies that gleam
With bright stars. But blue or gray,
Black or brown, like flower or star,
Sweeter eyes can never be
To mamma than baby's are.

[Begun in No. 11 of Harper's Young People, January 13.]