“The Cottager to Her Infant”
Text by Dorothy Mae Ann Wordsworth
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,
hen 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.