Poem by Bryan Waller Procter

The New-Born Baby's Song

When I was twenty inches long,
I could not hear the thrush's song;
The radiance of the morning skies
Was most displeasing to my eyes.

For loving looks, caressing words,
I cared no more than sun or birds;
But I could bite my mother's breast,
And that made up for all the rest. 

1. Golden-Tressed Adelaide
2. In France
3. Sit Down, Sad Soul
4. The Watch
5. The Old Witch in the Copse

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