Your brother has a falcon, Your sister has a flower; But what is left for mannikin, Born within a hour? I’ll nurse you on my knee, my knee…
Love, strong as Death, is dead. Come, let us make his bed Among the dying flowers: A green turf at his head; And a stone at his feet,
Sleep, little Baby, sleep, The holy Angels love thee, And guard thy bed, and keep A blessed watch above thee. No spirit can come near
She stares the livelong day; Her wig of gold is stiff and cold And cannot change to grey.
I had a love in soft south land, Beloved through April far in May; He waited on my lightest breath, And never dared to say me nay. He saddened if my cheer was sad,
My baby has a mottled fist, My baby has a neck in creases; My baby kisses and is kissed, For he’s the very thing for kisses…
Is the moon tired? she looks so pa… Within her misty veil: She scales the sky from east to we… And takes no rest. Before the coming of the night
The sweetest blossoms die. And so it was that, going day by d… Unto the church to praise and pray… And crossing the green churchyard… I saw how on the graves the flower…
Boats sail on the rivers, And ships sail on the seas; But clouds that sail across the sk… Are prettier far than these. There are bridges on the rivers,
New Year met me somewhat sad: Old Year leaves me tired, Stripped of favourite things I ha… Baulked of much desired: Yet farther on my road to—day
Love me —I love you, Love me, my baby; Sing it high, sing it low, Sing it as may be. Mother’s arms under you,
I wish I could remember the first… First hour, first moment of your m… If bright or dim the season, it mi… Summer or winter for aught I can… So unrecorded did it slip away,
Swift and sure the swallow, Slow and sure the snail: Slow and sure may miss his way, Swift and sure may fail.
If he would come to—day, to—day, t… O, what a day to—day would be! But now he’s away, miles and miles… From me across the sea. O little bird, flying, flying, fly…
I will tell you when they met: In the limpid days of Spring; Elder boughs were budding yet, Oaken boughs looked wintry still, But primrose and veined violet