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Charles Lamb used pseudonym Elia
Suck, baby! suck! mother's love grows by giving: Drain the sweet founts that only thrive by wasting! Black manhood comes when riotous guilty living Hands thee the cup that shall be death in tasting.
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Bible
Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings hast thou ordained strength because of thine enemies, that thou mightest still the enemy and the avenger.
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Bible
Rock-bye-baby on the tree top, When the wind blows the cradle will rock. When the bough bends the cradle will fall, Down comes the baby, cradle and all.
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Edmund Vance Cooke
Couldn't carry the freight Of the monstrous weight Of all of his qualities, good and great. And tho' one view is as good as another Don't take my word for it. Ask his mother!
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Edmund Vance Cooke
The hand that rocks the cradle--but there is no such hand. It is bad to rock the baby, they would have us understand; So the cradle's but a relic of the former foolish days, When mothers reared their children in unscientific ways; When they jounced them and they bounced them, those poor dwarfs of long ago-- The Washingtons and Jeffersons, you know.
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Frederick Locker-Lampson
The hair she means to have is gold, Her eyes are blue, she's twelve weeks old, Plump are her fists and pinky. She fluttered down in lucky hour From some blue deep in yon sky bower-- I call her Little Dinky.
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George Washington Cable
There came to port last Sunday night The queerest little craft, Without an inch of rigging on; I looked and looked--and laughed. It seemed so curious that she Should cross the unknown water, And moor herself within my room-- My daughter! O my daughter!
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Helen Hunt Jackson Helen Hunt
When the baby dies, On every side Rose stranger's voices, hard and harsh and loud. The baby was not wrapped in any shroud. The mother made no sound. Her head was bowed That men's eyes might not see Her misery.
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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
O child! O new-born denizen Of life's great city! on thy head The glory of morn is shed, Like a celestial benison! Here at the portal thou dost stand, And with thy little hand Thou openest the mysterious gate Into the future's undiscovered land.
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James Russell Lowell
He seemed a cherub who had lost his way And wandered hither, so his stay With us was short, and 'twas most meet, That he should be no delver in earth's clod, Nor need to pause and cleanse his feet To stand before his God: O blest word--Evermore!
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John Keble
Sweet is the infant's waking smile, And sweet the old man's rest-- But middle age by no fond wile, No soothing calm is blest.
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Josiah Gilbert Holland used pseudonym Timothy Titcomb
What is the little one thinking about? Very wonderful things, no doubt; Unwritten history! Unfathomed mystery! Yet he laughs and cries, and eats and drinks, And chuckles and crows, and nods and winks, As if his head were as full of kinks And curious riddles as any sphinx! - Josiah Gilbert Holland used pseudonym Timothy Titcomb,
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Lord Byron George Gordon Noel Byron
Look! how he laughs and stretches out his arms, And opens wide his blue eyes upon thine, To hail his father; while his little form Flutters as winged with joy. Talk not of pain! The childless cherubs well might envy thee The pleasures of a parent.
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Lord Byron George Gordon Noel Byron
He smiles, and sleeps!--sleep on And smile, thou little, young inheritor Of a world scarce less young: sleep on and smile! Thine are the hours and days when both are cheering And innocent!
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Lord Byron George Gordon Noel Byron
How lovely he appears! his little cheeks In their pure incarnation, vying with The rose leaves strewn beneath them. And his lips, too, How beautifully parted! No; you shall not Kiss him; at least not now; he will wake soon-- His hour of midday rest is nearly over.
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Margaret Eytinge
When you fold your hands, Baby Louise! Your hands like a fairy's, so tiny and fair, With a pretty, innocent, saintlike air, Are you trying to think of some angel-taught prayer You learned above, Baby Louise.
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Ralph Hodgson
The morning that my baby came They found a baby swallow dead, And saw a something hard to name Fly mothlike over baby's bed.
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