The Drooping Flower[ToC]
Baby's rather ill to-night,
Little face is long and white,
Eyes are all too large and bright—
What shall mother do now?
Never leave him out of sight,
Hold him warm and still and tight,
Make him well with all her might,
That's what she will do now.
Mothers in the Garden[ToC]
I
Wagtail—pied Wagtail—
What tremor's in your breast?
On nimble feet, when we draw near,
You run about to hide your fear,
As if to say: There's nothing here,
I have no nest....