I bought my little grandchild Ann
 A bright balloon,
And I was such a happy man
 To hear her croon.
She laughed and babbled with delight,
 So gold its glow,
As by a thread she held it tight,
 Then--let it go.

As if it gloried to be free
 It climbed the sky;
But oh how sorrowful was she,
 And sad was I!
And when at eve with sobbing cry
 She saw the moon,
She pleaded to the pensive sky
 For her balloon.

O Little One, I pray that you
 In years to be,
Will hold a tiny baby too,
 And know its glee;
That yours will always be the thrill
 And joy of June,
And that you never, never will
 Cry for the moon.