Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/230

170 "Dear Babe, though Daughter of another,

One moment let me be thy Mother!

An Infant's face and looks are thine;

And sure a Mother's heart is mine:

Thy own dear Mother's far away,

At labour in the harvest-field:

Thy little Sister is at play;—

What warmth, what comfort would it yield

To my poor heart, if Thou wouldst be

One little hour a child to me!

Across the waters I am come,

And I have left a Babe at home:

A long, long way of land and sea!

Come to me—I'm no enemy:

I am the same who at thy side

Sate yesterday, and made a nest

For thee, sweet Baby!—thou hast tried,

Thou know'st, the pillow of my breast:

Good, good art thou;—alas! to me

Far more than I can be to thee.