NURSING
XXII
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.