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Charles Lamb (Чарльз Лэм)


O hush, my little baby brother;
 Sleep, my love, upon my knee.
What though, dear child, we've lost our mother;
 That can never trouble thee.

You are but ten weeks old to-morrow;
 What can you know of our loss?
The house is full enough of sorrow.
 Little baby, don't be cross.

Peace, cry not so, my dearest love;
 Hush, my baby-bird, lie still.—
He's quiet now, he does not move,
 Fast asleep is little Will.

My only solace, only joy,
 Since the sad day I lost my mother,
Is nursing her own Willy boy,
 My little orphan brother.

Charles Lamb's other poems:
  1. Incorrect Speaking
  2. Good Temper
  3. Love, Death, and Reputation
  4. Lines Addressed from London, to Sara and S.T.C. at Bristol, in the Summer of 1796
  5. Cleanliness

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