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Poems (Wordsworth, 1815)/Volume 1/The Cottager to her Infant

XVI.

THE COTTAGER TO HER INFANT.

BY A FEMALE FRIEND.

See page 8.

 


 

The days are cold, the nights are long,
The north-wind sings a doleful song;
Then hush again upon my breast;
All merry things are now at rest,
Save thee, my pretty Love!


The kitten sleeps upon the hearth,
The crickets long have ceased their mirth;
There's nothing stirring in the house
Save one wee, hungry, nibbling mouse,
Then why so busy thou?


Nay! start not at that sparkling light;
'Tis but the moon that shines so bright
On the window-pane bedropped with rain:
Then, little Darling! sleep again,
And wake when it is day.