أنت هنا
قراءة كتاب Songs of Womanhood
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
اللغة: English
الصفحة رقم: 5
title="[17]"/>
The Drooping FlowerToC
Baby's rather ill to-night,
Little face is long and white,
Eyes are all too large and bright—
What shall mother do now?
Little face is long and white,
Eyes are all too large and bright—
What shall mother do now?
Never leave him out of sight,
Hold him warm and still and tight,
Make him well with all her might,
That's what she will do now.
Hold him warm and still and tight,
Make him well with all her might,
That's what she will do now.
Mothers in the GardenToC
I
Wagtail—pied Wagtail—
What tremor's in your breast?
On nimble feet, when we draw near,
You run about to hide your fear,
As if to say: There's nothing here,
I have no nest....
What tremor's in your breast?
On nimble feet, when we draw near,
You run about to hide your fear,
As if to say: There's nothing here,
I have no nest....
Wagtail—pied Wagtail—
We too their voices heard;
Away then to the water-side,
And fetch the food for which they cried;
From us there is no need to hide,
My dainty bird.
We too their voices heard;
Away then to the water-side,
And fetch the food for which they cried;
From us there is no need to hide,
My dainty bird.
II
The thrushes' nest has fallen
From the ivy on the wall:
The dear blue eggs are broken,
All broken by the fall.
From the ivy on the wall:
The dear blue eggs are broken,
All broken by the fall.
But we heard a song at sundown
That said: O tears are vain!—
And babe and I ceased grieving:
We think they will build again.
That said: O tears are vain!—
And babe and I ceased grieving:
We think they will build again.
The Gravel PathToC
Tiny mustn't frown
When she tumbles down;
If the wind should change—Ah me,
What a face her face would be!
When she tumbles down;
If the wind should change—Ah me,
What a face her face would be!
Rub away the dirt,
Say she wasn't hurt;
What a world 'twould be—O my,
If all who fell began to cry!
Say she wasn't hurt;
What a world 'twould be—O my,
If all who fell began to cry!
The New PelisseToC
Baby's got a new pelisse,
Very soft and very neat—
Like a lammy in her fleece
She's all white from head to feet.
Very soft and very neat—
Like a lammy in her fleece
She's all white from head to feet.
Thirty lambs each gave a curl,
Mother sewed them, stitch by stitch—
All to clothe a baby-girl:
Don't you think she's very rich?
Mother sewed them, stitch by stitch—
All to clothe a baby-girl:
Don't you think she's very rich?
SolaceToC
Whom does Miss belong to?
Just to Mother, Mother only:
That's whom Miss belongs to,
—And Mother's never lonely.
Just to Mother, Mother only:
That's whom Miss belongs to,
—And Mother's never lonely.
Whom's this little song to?
Just to Baby, Baby only:
That's whom little song's to,
—And Baby's never lonely.
Just to Baby, Baby only:
That's whom little song's to,
—And Baby's never lonely.
Strange LandsToC
Where do you come from, Mr. Jay?—
'From the land of Play, from the land of Play.'
And where can that be, Mr. Jay?—
'Far away—far away.'
'From the land of Play, from the land of Play.'
And where can that be, Mr. Jay?—
'Far away—far away.'
Where do you come from, Mrs. Dove?—
'From the land of Love, from the land of Love.'
And how do you get there, Mrs. Dove?—
'Look above—look above.'
'From the land of Love, from the land of Love.'
And how do you get there, Mrs. Dove?—
'Look above—look above.'
Where do you come from, Baby Miss?—
'From the land of Bliss, from the land of Bliss.'
And what is the way there, Baby Miss?—
'Mother's kiss—mother's kiss.'
'From the land of Bliss, from the land of Bliss.'
And what is the way there, Baby Miss?—
'Mother's kiss—mother's kiss.'
March MeadowsToC
A Lark:
Lark-bird, lark-bird soaring high,
Are you never weary?
When you reach the empty sky,
Are the clouds not dreary?
Don't you sometimes long to be
A silent gold-fish in the sea?
Are you never weary?
When you reach the empty sky,
Are the clouds not dreary?
Don't you sometimes long to be
A silent gold-fish in the sea?
Gold-fish, gold-fish diving deep,
Are you never sad, say?
When you feel the cold waves creep
Are you really glad, say?
Don't you sometimes long to sing
And be a lark-bird on the wing?
Are you never sad, say?
When you feel the cold waves creep
Are you really glad, say?
Don't you sometimes long to sing
And be a lark-bird on the wing?
Lambs:
O little lambs! the month is cold,
The sky is very gray;
You shiver in the misty grass
And bleat at all the winds that pass;
Wait! when I'm big—some day—
I'll build a roof to every
The sky is very gray;
You shiver in the misty grass
And bleat at all the winds that pass;
Wait! when I'm big—some day—
I'll build a roof to every