Verse > William Wordsworth > Complete Poetical Works
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THE COTTAGER TO HER INFANT

BY MY SISTER

          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?                                10

          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.
                                                              1805.


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