WHAT is it that makes little Emily cry? Come then, let mamma wipe the tear from her eye: There -- lay down your head on my bosom -- that's right, And now tell mamma what's the matter to-night. What! Emmy is sleepy, and tired with play? Come, Betty, make haste then, and fetch her away; But do not be fretful, my darling; you know Mamma cannot love little girls that are so. She shall soon go to bed and forget it all there -- Ah! here's her sweet smile come again, I declare: That's right, for I thought you quite naughty before. Good night, my dear child, but don't fret any more. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LOVE by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS MARY DONNELLY by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM BEFORE THE BIRTH OF ONE OF HER CHILDREN by ANNE BRADSTREET SNEEZING by JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT SONNET: DANTE (2) by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW ON LAYING THE CORNER-STONE OF THE BUNKER HILL MOMUMENT by JOHN PIERPONT WHITTIER by MARGARET ELIZABETH MUNSON SANGSTER |