When I was twenty inches long,
I could not hear the thrush's song;
The radiance of the morning skies
Was most displeasing to my eyes.

For loving looks, caressing words,
I cared no more than sun or birds;
But I could bite my mother's breast,
And that made up for all the rest.

Frances Macdonald Cornford

Read poems about / on: song, mother, sun, baby, sky

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7/23/2008 4:00:17 PM. You Are Here: The New-born Baby's Song by Frances Macdonald Cornford