The Coming Woman
Just look, ’tis quarter past six, love—
And not even the fires are caught;
Well, you know I must be at the office—
But, as usual, the breakfast ’ll be late.
Now hurry and wake up the children;
And dress them as fast as you can;
‘Poor dearies,’ I know they’ll be tardy,
Dear me, ‘what a slow, poky man!’
Read Poem And not even the fires are caught;
Well, you know I must be at the office—
But, as usual, the breakfast ’ll be late.
Now hurry and wake up the children;
And dress them as fast as you can;
‘Poor dearies,’ I know they’ll be tardy,
Dear me, ‘what a slow, poky man!’
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Serenade
Sleep, love sleep,
The night winds sigh,
In soft lullaby.
The Lark is at rest
With the dew on her breast.
So close those dear eyes,
That borrowed their hue
From the heavens so blue,
Sleep, love sleep.
Sleep, love sleep,
The pale moon looks down
On the valleys around,
The Glow Moth is flying,
The South wind is sighing,
Read Poem The night winds sigh,
In soft lullaby.
The Lark is at rest
With the dew on her breast.
So close those dear eyes,
That borrowed their hue
From the heavens so blue,
Sleep, love sleep.
Sleep, love sleep,
The pale moon looks down
On the valleys around,
The Glow Moth is flying,
The South wind is sighing,
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In Memorium: Alphonse Campbell Fordham
Aged 6 Years, 2 Months, 20 Days
Almost whose last words were
“We shall meet beyond the River.”
Read Poem Almost whose last words were
“We shall meet beyond the River.”
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