The Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar/The Poet And The Baby

THE POET AND THE BABY

How's a man to write a sonnet, can you tell,— How's he going to weave the dim, poetic spell,— When a-toddling on the floor Is the muse he must adore, And this muse he loves, not wisely, but too well?

Now, to write a sonnet, every one allows, One must always be as quiet as a mouse; But to write one seems to me Quite superfluous to be, When you 've got a little sonnet in the house.

Just a dainty little poem, true and fine, That is full of love and life in every line, Earnest, delicate, and sweet, Altogether so complete That I wonder what's the use of writing mine.