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...RESURRECTION UPDATE by JAMES GALVIN LOW TIDE ON GRAND-PRE by BLISS CARMAN TO MARY UNWIN by WILLIAM COWPER MUCKLE-MOU'D MEG by JAMES BALLANTYNE THE NEW CRUSADE by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE SHEEPHERD by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |