When nursery lamps are veiled, and nurse is singingIn accents low,Timing her music to the cradle's swinging,Now fast, now slow,—Singing of Baby Bunting, soft and furryIn rabbit cloak,Or rock-a-byed amid the toss and flurryOf wind-swept oak;Of Boy-Blue sleeping with his horn beside him,Of my son John,Who went to bed (let all good boys deride him)With stockings on;Of sweet Bo-Peep following her lambkins straying;Of Dames in shoes;Of cows,...
more...