 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
178
THE MOTHER'S LULLABY
Hush! lullaby, my baby, nor mix thy tears with mine;
I grieve to think my parents would be no friends of thine;
I grieve to think thy father—oh, grief doth words oppose,
To think thy helpless innocence should find so many foes.
I grieve to think my parents would be no friends of thine;
I grieve to think thy father—oh, grief doth words oppose,
To think thy helpless innocence should find so many foes.
Hush! lullaby, my baby, upon thy mother's arm;
My prayers shall still the storm to rest to leave my baby warm,
While to thy father's hall we go, who fast asleep doth lie:
Did he know his door was locked on thee, it might unclose his eye.
My prayers shall still the storm to rest to leave my baby warm,
While to thy father's hall we go, who fast asleep doth lie:
Did he know his door was locked on thee, it might unclose his eye.
Hush! lullaby, my baby; he yet thy friend may be,
And by and by I hope to find a friend again in thee;
So hush, my little baby, the day comes by and by,
The storm is gone, the moon is up, so hush and lullaby!
And by and by I hope to find a friend again in thee;
So hush, my little baby, the day comes by and by,
The storm is gone, the moon is up, so hush and lullaby!
Hush! lullaby, my baby; I wake thee when I sigh,
To think my parents turned their back, nor bade thee one ‘goodbye’;
Nor sighed to see thy breath nigh gone, to meet the storm so high,
But God has heard, and the storm is gone, so hush and lullaby!
To think my parents turned their back, nor bade thee one ‘goodbye’;
Nor sighed to see thy breath nigh gone, to meet the storm so high,
But God has heard, and the storm is gone, so hush and lullaby!
| The Poems of John Clare | |