Kitty—ah, how my heart blesses
  Kitty, my lily, my rose!
  Wary of all my caresses,
  Chary of all she bestows.

  Kitty loves quietest places,
  Whispers sweet sermons to chairs,
  And, with the gravest of faces,
  Teaches old Carlo his prayers.

  Matronly, motherly creature!
  Oh, what a doll she has built—
  Guiltless of figure or feature—
  Out of her own little quilt!

  Nought must come near it to wake it;
  Noise must not give it alarm;
  And when she sleeps, she must take it
  Into her bed, on her arm.

  Kitty is shy of a caller,
  Uttering never a word;
  But when alone in the parlor,
  Talks to herself like a bird.

  Kitty is contrary, rather,
  And, with a comical smile,
  Mutters, "I won't," to her father,—
  Eyeing him slyly the while.

  Loving one more than the other
  Isn't the thing, I confess;
  And I observe that their mother
  Makes no distinction in dress.

  Preference must be improper
  In a relation like this;
  I wouldn't toss up a copper—
  (Kitty, come, give me a kiss!)