I HAVE a little daughter Who's scarcely half-past three And in the twilight hour She climbs upon my knee And snuggles down within my arm With "Mother, sing to me!" I sing about the squirrels That frolic in the wood, About two furry kittens-- One naughty and one good And then some tender lullabies-- Just as a mother should. The light grows faint, and fainter; The sandman guards the door; My baby's boat drifts slowly Upon the slumber shore-- But if the singing stops, she cries, "O Mother, sing some more!" I'm sure no prima-donna Adored from East to West, Feels half the satisfaction, Or is so truly blest As I, when singing to my child Held closely to my breast. Not all the fame and glory Of divas can compare With that deep thrill of pleasure Which is my humble share, For precious are the laurel-wreaths That singing-mothers wear! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE AUTHOR TO HER BOOK by ANNE BRADSTREET DEAD IN THE SIERRAS by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER THREE FLOWERS by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE HEART O' THE WOODS by JOHN BURROUGHS SUMMER by MADISON JULIUS CAWEIN SONG AND CRY OF A SOLDIER IN THE LINES by ALBERT EDWARD CLEMENTS |