Norah M. Holland

(1876-1925 / Ontario)

Cradle Song


Little brown feet, that have grown so weary
Plodding on through the heat of day,
Mother will hold you, mother will fold you
Safe to her breast; little feet, rest;
Now is the time to cease from play.

Little brown hands, that through day's long hours
Never rested, be still at last;
Mother will rest you; come, then, and nest you
Here by her side, nestle and hide;
Creep to her heart and hold it fast.

Little brown head, on my shoulder lying,
Night is falling and day is dead;
Mother will sing you songs that shall bring you
Childhood's soft sleep, quiet and deep;
Sweet be your dreams, O dear brown head!

Submitted: Thursday, May 10, 2012
Edited: Thursday, May 10, 2012
Listen to this poem:

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Cradle Song by Norah M. Holland )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  9. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. Dearest Sister, Kaila George
  2. Wounded for me, Royston Allen
  3. A Soldiers Lament, Phil Soar
  4. The Sloth, Phil Soar
  5. The Double Play, Robert Wallace
  6. Kippers, Phil Soar
  7. what does hope tell you?, RIC S. BASTASA
  8. OUT, Phil Soar
  9. then we have changed from quizzical to a.., RIC S. BASTASA
  10. A Fishy Tale, Phil Soar

Poem of the Day

poet Wilfred Owen

All sounds have been as music to my listening:
Pacific lamentations of slow bells,
The crunch of boots on blue snow rosy-glistening,
Shuffle of autumn leaves; and all farewells:

...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]