The Valley Virginian. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1865-1895, 1875-01-28
The Little Glrl's Soul.
BY N. r. D.

The Little Glrl's Soul.
BY NJ r. D.
have got In the querest Of places;
I'm . little girls soul, suppose;
/ really am very much hampered.
Dressed out In mortality clothes.
To be sure I've aroof OF the rarost.
And finest, and fAirest of gold,
And my windows are blue as the heavens,
With snow-curtains over them rolled.
The carriage that bears me 30 gaily.
The pages that go at my wink,
At6marvsis ufagraes. with the hues Of
The lily, the rose. and the pink.
It's q beautiful, beautiful palace,
But rather too cramped in its size,
Ihav'nt half room to store all Of
The strange things that como thro' my eye
Ny body's mama is the leader
OF what they call fashion and tom"
The papa has plenty OF money,
To build this great leadership on.
This body OF mine, they call Lille,
My god-nams Is not on the roll;
It's only the simplest old people,
That talk of ones having soul.
But this delicate form, which will perish.
When want to stretch out my wings,
And my palace find is too narrow.
They deck with the costlicst things.
They curve the gold hair into ringlots.
And bind them with ribbons of pearl;
They lace it, and train it, and dress It,
Till it sets the wee brains in whirl.
"A party for children Dear Lille.
Tho seven years only, must go;
Dressed up like an elegant lady,
And with, would you believe il? beau,
The finest dressed miss at the party,
She 1irted, and simpered, and smiled.
And bore OF the laurels for being,
A precsciously wonderful child.
And they said to the proud, pretty mama,
Your child is the belle here tonight;
None asked if the soul she was keeping,
Appareled in garments OF white.
She danced, then she ate OF the ices.
TIL her hot blood was suddenly chilled,
And her stomach, my daintiest larder,
With connections and swectmeats she filled.
That night came very near leaving,
Ny palace was in such whirl
God pitied the fond, foolish parents,
SO he spared them, their one little girl.
With pink palms pressed softly, the mama,
Said I'm thankful that Lille is WE'LL
She's SO snowily pretty and piquant,
The Saviour, who once was baby,
Must have sorrowed for this little one,
Being trained IS a leader OF fashion,
Ere its baby-hood dreamings were done.
And this training OF Lilies fair body
To the pelleship, so fine and SO grand.
Is pressing so heavily on me,
That haven't the room to expand.
For instance, one day thro my Windows,
saw such beautiful sight;
thrilled the wee babyish fingers.
To tumult OF noisy delight.
A slow, and silken uplifting
OF the mammals large eyes unto us.
pray be quiet, and sit like a lady,
It is rude, dear, to make such fuss"
Thus chided, the child sits uprightly.
In quiet and lady-liks pose,
And, for fear. I'll again make her naughty,
Ny golden-fringed curtains, close.
I see the stars burning at even.
And want to ask all about them,
But these questions so tedious to answer.
The mamma, is sure to condemn.
What opens the flowers, and shuts them,
What gives them so lovely hue,
But says mama, with elegant horror.
fear Lille will be a "bas blue
Said mama in answer to Lille,
Ibid God give a soul unto me"
IF Lille should turn out out religious
How disappointedPd be-
But we seldom are with the grand mamma,
She's the leader OF fashion you know,
This takes up the time so completely.
She has none on her child to bestow.
We're most always with gay, giddy Ninon,
nurse maid imported from Franco,
Who taught with the first steps in walking.
The fashionable baby to dance
She teaches us French, and she praises
The beauty OF Lille. till she
Is the vainest OF all the young misses,
But never whisper of me.
In all this sxtravagant praising
OF violet eyes, and gold hair.
And these grand and Respondent predictions,
OF her future as fashions bright star.
Nothing is said OF my beauty.
Tho germ of the God-head, Himself;
soul tho allied to the Infinite,
Is you know, often bartered for wealth.
When we summer sometimes in the country,
see such dear little girls;
Their faces are brown. but so healthy.
And the wind gaily tangles their curls.
They laugh, without any one Gliding;
They romp, with sut minding their clothes;
Over green grass, and pretty wild flowers,
Like mice, run their bl own little toes.
How wish Lille lived in the country.
And mama, was a kind farmers wife;
With the freedom of childhood, oh, wouldn't
We lead such glorious life,
But, alas, this frail, snowy lady.
Is too white, to be kissed by the sun!
And the polish OF fashionable manners,
Cannot tolerate frolic and fun
And cheeks that are red as the roses,
And health is too vulgar by far.
And its even considered too common.
To walk when you're taking the air.
Oh! keep me from vanity, Father,
And keep me so spotless and white.
That when this frail body shall perish.
shall come forth untarnished and bright.
Unsoiled by the womanless belleship
Fit, Father, to dwell in thy sight.