The Little Millionaire by Richard Whittington

My little daughter climbed up on my knee,
And said, with an air of great mystery,
“I’ve a secret to tell you, papa,
But I must whisper it close in your ear,
And don’t you speak of it, papa dear,
For there’s nobody knows but mamma.

“I am very rich! Very rich indeed!
I have far more money than I shall need;
I counted my money to-day—
Twenty new pennies—all of them mine—
And one little silver piece called a dime
That I got from my grandpapa Gray.

“I have fourteen nickels and one three-cent,
Five silver quarters, though one of them’s bent;
And, papa dear, something still better,
Three big white dollars! not one of them old,
And, whisper, one beautiful piece of gold
That came in my uncle Tom’s letter.”

Then she clapped her small hands, laughed merry and clear,
Put her soft rosy lips down close to my ear,
(Oh, so lovely the fair curly head!)
“Am I not very rich? Now answer me true,
Am I not richer, far richer, than you?
Whisper, papa,” she artlessly said.

I looked at her face, so young and so fair,
I thought of her life untouched by care,
And I said, with a happy sigh,
As my lips touched softly her waiting ear,
“You’re exceedingly rich, my daughter dear!
Ten thousand times richer than I!”