Part 1 — THE COTTAGER TO HER INFANT
Reading edition
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: There, little darling! sleep again, And wake when it is day!
Dorothy Wordsworth [1804-1847]