To My Little Son Preston

You, who are four years old;
You, with the eyes of blue;
You with the age of gold
Young in the heart of you,
Boy with the eyes of blue:
You, with the face so fair,
Innocent-uttered words,
All the glad sunlight there,
Music of all the birds,
Boy, in your face and words:
Take you my sheaf of rhymes,
Sung for your childish ear;
Rhymes you have loved at times
Begged for, and sat to hear,
Lending a loving ear.
Since you have listened, sweet,
They to some worth attained;
Since in your heart's young beat
They for a while remained,
They to some worth attained.