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1858–1924

LULLABY.

Edith Nesbit

Sleep, my darling; mother will sing Soft low songs to her little king, Nobody else must listen or hear The pretty secrets I tell my dear.

Sleep, my darling, sleep while you may — Sorrow dawns with the dawning day, Sleep, my baby, sleep, my dear, Soon enough will the day be here.

Lie here quiet on mother's arm, Safe from harm; Nestled closely to mother's breast, Sleep and rest!

Mother feels your breath's soft stir Close to her; Mother holds you, clasps you tight, All the night.

When the little Jesus lay On the manger's hay, He was a Baby, if tales tell true, Just like you.

And He had no crown to wear But His bright hair; And such kisses as I give you He had too.

Mary never loved her Son More than I love my little one; And her Baby never smiled More divinely than my little child.

Sleep, my darling, sleep while you may — Sorrow dawns with the dawning day; Sleep, my little one, sleep, my dear, All too soon will the day be here.

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LULLABY. · Edith Nesbit · Poetry Cove