Classic Poem

This little Book, my darling boy,
I well may dedicate to thee:
The verse was framed for thy delight
For thy bright eyes alone to see.

My hand is weak, beloved child
But I will use my hand for thee:
To write what thy dear tongue shall speak
That pleasure still is left to me.

My head's confused, my thoughts are dull,
But simple rhymes I still may find:
I'm all unfit for serious themes,
Yet may I please thy childish mind.

My heart, dear child, is often sad,
But thou shalt laugh with mirth and glee
At quaint conceits which I'll devise;
Sweet music is thy voice to me.

And though my dazzled eyes are dim
These letters I delight to trace,
To see my little Herbert read
With sparkling eye and glowing face.

Then darling boy accept the book
Which thus I dedicate to thee:
'Tis all thy mother now can do
For him she loves so tenderly.