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1850–1895

THE SLEEPING CHILD

Eugene Field

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.

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THE SLEEPING CHILD · Eugene Field · Poetry Cove