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The Sleeping Child My baby slept—how calm his rest, As o'er his handsome face a smile Like that of angel flitted, while He lay so still upon my breast! My baby slept—his baby head Lay all unkiss'd 'neath pall and shroud: I did not weep or cry aloud— I only wished I, too, were dead! My baby sleeps—a tiny mound, All covered by the little flowers, Woos me in all my waking hours, Down in the quiet burying-ground. And when I sleep I seem to be With baby in another land— I take his little baby hand— He smiles and sings sweet songs to me. Sleep on, O baby, while I keep My vigils till this day be passed! Then shall I, too, lie down at last, And with my baby darling sleep. Eugene Field's other poems: ![]() Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1290 |
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Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |