There's not a little girl I meet,
Not even Sue or Annie,
That seems to me more fair and sweet
Than my younger neighbor, Fanny.

'Tis not because her eyes are black,
And look so bright and funny;
'Tis not because her breath is pure,
As new-mown hay or honey.

'Tis not because at dancing school
Her step is light and airy,
Or that she skips about the house
Just like a little fairy.

'Tis not because in
Worcester

She learns a
'monstrous'
column;
Nor that she sits in company

Sometimes
quite still and solemn.

Nor is it that her little hands
She waves about so gaily,
When telling every artless thought
That fills her bosom daily.

It is because
good-nature
comes
To light each limb and feature,
That Fanny always seems to me
A charming little creature.