Low in the troubled west, Storm clouds are trailing, And from the woodland nest, Night birds are wailing. Oh, baby, soft and warm, On my breast lying, What do I care for storm, Or daylight dying? What for the night so drear, Waking or sleeping, When thou art folded here Safe in my keeping. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PENT by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DOMESDAY BOOK: JANE FISHER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: MRS. PURKAPILE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS REINFORCEMENTS by MARIANNE MOORE ON THE THREE PHILOSOPHICAL POETS by GEORGE SANTAYANA SIGNATURE OF LOVE by KAREN SWENSON THE RED TURTLENECK by KAREN SWENSON GOD'S YOUTH by LOUIS UNTERMEYER ISADORA DUNCAN DANCING 'IPHIGENIA IN AULIS' by LOUIS UNTERMEYER |