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Have you not heard the poets tell
How came the dainty Baby Bell
Into this world of ours?
Author: Thomas Bailey Aldrich
Source: Baby Bell
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Oh those little, those little blue shoes!
Those shoes that no little feet use.
Oh, the price were high
That those shoes would buy,
Those little blue unused shoes!
Author: William Cox Bennett
Source: Baby's Shoes
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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.
Author: Bible
Source: Psalms (ch. VIII, v. 2)
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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.
Author: Bible
Source: Psalms (ch. VIII, v. 2)
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Sweet babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
Little pretty infant wiles.
Author: William Blake
Source: A Cradle Song
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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.
Author: Lord Byron (George Gordon Noel Byron)
Source: Cain (act III, sc. I, l. 171)
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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!
Author: Lord Byron (George Gordon Noel Byron)
Source: Cain (act III, sc. I, l. 24)
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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.
Author: Lord Byron (George Gordon Noel Byron)
Source: Cain (act III, sc. I. l. 24)
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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!
Author: George Washington Cable
Source: The New Arrival
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Lo! at the couch where infant beauty sleeps;
Her silent watch the mournful mother keeps;
She, while the lovely babe unconscious lies,
Smiles on her slumbering child with pensive eyes.
Author: Thomas Campbell
Source: Pleasures of Hope (pt. I, l. 225)
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He is so little to be so large!
Why, a train of cars, or a whale-back barge
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!
Author: Edmund Vance Cooke
Source: The Intruder
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"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.
Author: Edmund Vance Cooke
Source: The Intruder
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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.
Author: Margaret Eytinge
Source: Baby Louise
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Baloo, baloo, my wee, wee thing.
Author: Richard Gall
Source: Cradle Song
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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.
Author: Ralph Hodgson
Source: The Swallow
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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),
Author: Josiah Gilbert Holland (used pseudonym Timothy Titcomb)
Source: Bitter-Sweet--First Movement (l. 6)
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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.
Author: Helen Hunt Jackson (Helen Hunt)
Source: When the Baby Died
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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.
Author: John Keble
Source: Christian Year--St. Philip and St. James (st. 3)
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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.
Author: Charles Lamb (used pseudonym Elia)
Source: The Gypsy's Malison, a sonnet in a letter to Mrs. Procter
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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."
Author: Frederick Locker-Lampson
Source: Little Dinky
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A tight little bundle of wailing and flannel,
Perplex'd with the newly found fardel of life.
Author: Frederick Locker-Lampson
Source: The Old Cradle
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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.
Author: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Source: To a Child
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A baby was sleeping,
Its mother was weeping.
Author: Samuel Lover
Source: Angel's Whisper
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Her beads while she numbered,
The baby still slumbered,
And smile in her face, as she bended her knee;
Oh! bless'd be that warning,
My child, thy sleep adorning,
For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.
Author: Samuel Lover
Source: Angel's Whisper
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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!
Author: James Russell Lowell
Source: Threnodia
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