Poem by Charles Lamb

Nursing

O hush, my little baby brother;
 Sleep, my love, upon my knee.
What though, dear child, we've lost our mother;
 That can never trouble thee.

You are but ten weeks old to-morrow;
 What can you know of our loss?
The house is full enough of sorrow.
 Little baby, don't be cross.

Peace, cry not so, my dearest love;
 Hush, my baby-bird, lie still.—
He's quiet now, he does not move,
 Fast asleep is little Will.

My only solace, only joy,
 Since the sad day I lost my mother,
Is nursing her own Willy boy,
 My little orphan brother.

1. David
2. Love, Death, and Reputation
3. Beauty and the Beast
4. Wasps in a Garden
5. Lines Addressed from London, to Sara and S.T.C. at Bristol, in the Summer of 1796

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