My love, I wish thee well; so lullaby! Thy little eyes are like the cloudless sky, My little lovely girl, my pretty one, Mother will make of thee a little nun: A sister of the Saviour's Priory Where noble dames and ladies great there be. Sleep, moon-faced treasure, sleep, the while I sing: Thou hadst thy cradle from the Spanish king. When thou hast slept, I'll love thee better still. (Sleep to my daughter comes and goes at will And in her slumber she is made to smile By certain ladies whom I dare not style.) Breath of my body, thou, my love, my care, Thou art without a flaw, so wondrous fair. Sleep then, thy mother's breath, sleep, sleep, and rest, For thee my very soul forsakes my breast. My very soul goes forth, and sore my heart: Thou criest; words of comfort I impart. Daughter, my flame, lie still and take repose, Thou art a nosegay, culled from off the rose. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A STORM IN THE DISTANCE (AMONG THE GEORGIAN HILLS) by PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE ON THE COLLAR OF MRS. DINGLEY'S LAP-DOG by JONATHAN SWIFT CHRIST'S KINGDOM AMONG THE GENTILES by ISAAC WATTS PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 91 by EDWIN ARNOLD EPIGRAM by DECIMUS MAGNUS AUSONIUS |