Poetry Archives

My baby slept—how calm his rest,
  As o’er his handsome face a smile
  Like that of angel flitted, while
He lay so still upon my breast!

My baby slept—his baby head
  Lay all unkiss’d ’neath pall and shroud:
  I did not weep or cry aloud—
I only wished I, too, were dead!

My baby sleeps—a tiny mound,
  All covered by the little flowers,
  Woos me in all my waking hours,
Down in the quiet burying-ground.

And when I sleep I seem to be
  With baby in another land—
  I take his little baby hand—
He smiles and sings sweet songs to me.

Sleep on, O baby, while I keep
  My vigils till this day be passed!
  Then shall I, too, lie down at last,
And with my baby darling sleep.