Address To A New Weaned Child Poem by Christian Milne

WELL may you droop your pretty head,
You'll press the teat no more,
Your halcyon days of unmix'd bliss,
Poor little babe, are o'er.
Your days have hitherto been sweet,
Hugg'd, dandled, and caress'd;
But, as your limbs, and passions grow,
Your cares will be increas'd.
A twelvemonth hence, your little faults
Will meet the training rod;
For tatter'd doll, or broken toy,
You'll pour a briny flood.
In grief, in joy, in pain, in health,
Alternate will be past
Your future yours, and none be crown'd
With pleasures like the last!