William Wordsworth (Уильям Вордсворт)

The Cottager to Her Infant

       BY A FEMALE FRIEND. 

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.

1. To the Memory of Raisley Calvert
2. The Horn of Egremont Castle
3. Upon the Sight of a Beautiful Picture Painted by Sir G. H. Beaumont, Bart
4. The Sparrow's Nest
5. Ellen Irwin, Or the Braes of Kirtle

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1712

Последние стихотворения

To English version