32
Poems.
But we shall wake to lasting light,
In never-ending day.
In never-ending day.
MOTHER AND SON.
Come hither, come hither, my little boy,
Thy Father's pride and thy mother's joy:
Where hast thou been this long, long day?
Hast thou been away in the woods to play?
Say, where hast thou been these many hours,
And where didst thou find those lovely flowers,
That thou holdest there, with so much care?
Is it a gift for thy mother to wear?
Hast thou been to visit Dame Margaret's Cot?
To ask thee before I had quite forgot.
Thy Father's pride and thy mother's joy:
Where hast thou been this long, long day?
Hast thou been away in the woods to play?
Say, where hast thou been these many hours,
And where didst thou find those lovely flowers,
That thou holdest there, with so much care?
Is it a gift for thy mother to wear?
Hast thou been to visit Dame Margaret's Cot?
To ask thee before I had quite forgot.
Mother, dear Mother! this whole day long,
I've passed at the cot where these flowers belong;
Believe me, dear mother, I 've not been to play
For a single moment, this live-long day.
I 've been as you say, to Dame Margaret's Cot;
And though humble her station, I envy her lot.
She has a contented, a happy mind,
Which so seldom among the gay world we find.
She s sick, very sick, confined to her bed,
I've passed at the cot where these flowers belong;
Believe me, dear mother, I 've not been to play
For a single moment, this live-long day.
I 've been as you say, to Dame Margaret's Cot;
And though humble her station, I envy her lot.
She has a contented, a happy mind,
Which so seldom among the gay world we find.
She s sick, very sick, confined to her bed,
