Wake, dearest infant, wake, birds carol gay,
And ev’ry dewy flow’r proclaims the May,
Ope they sweet eyes love, to behold the day
And give me joy;
For not ’till I can bless their gentle light
Shall I be sure the golden sun is bright:
While thou are sunk in sleep, it still is night
My darling boy.
Smile sweetest baby in thy mother’s face,
And while thus soften’d into infant grace
Thy father’s lineaments mind eye can trace
I sigh with joy!
Ah, now I see the little dimple sleek
Lurking amid the roses of thy cheek,
Its polis’d smoothness gently thus to break
My lovely boy.
And can a mother know more joy than this?
A joy more exquisite, more pure, O yes!
’Tis the proud climax of the mother’s bliss
To hear her boy
In new-born accents, infantine, and sweet,
Caught from her lips, his father’s name repeat
Delightful sound! her gladden’d ear to greet,
Oh this is joy.
Penelope