Quoth the matron, “Shut the door.”
Then the flannel pink unfolding, soon was I with awe beholding
Something like to which my eyes had never gazed upon before.
Nothing further then it uttered—but I mouthed awhile and stuttered
Till I positively muttered, “Tell me all, I would implore!”
Said the matron, “There is little to inform you on that score:
’Tis your son, and nothing more!”
“Ah,” said I, no longer dreaming, with a sudden knowledge gleaming,
“You’ve a monthly nurse’s seeming, and ’twas you that I heard pour;
Tell me, then, when I may slumber, when this room you’ll cease to cumber,