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William Wordsworth - The Cottager To Her Infant
Work rating: Medium

THE days are cold, the nights are long,
The north-wind sings a doleful song;
Then hush again upon my breast;
All merry things are now at rest,
      Save thee, my pretty Love!

The kitten sleeps upon the hearth,
The crickets long have ceased their mirth;
There`s nothing stirring in the house
Save one `wee`, hungry, nibbling mouse,
      Then why so busy thou?                                

Nay! start not at that sparkling light;
`Tis but the moon that shines so bright
On the window pane bedropped with rain:
Then, little Darling! sleep again,
      And wake when it is day.
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