Читать книгу Lays and Legends (Second Series) - Эдит Несбит, Nesbit Edith - Страница 15

Sleep, sleep, my little baby dear,

Thee shall no want or pain come near;

Sleep softly on thy downy nest,

Or on this lace-veiled mother-breast.

Thy cradle is all silken lined,

Wrought roses on thy curtains twined,

Warm woolly blankets o'er thee spread,

With soft white pillows for thy head.

Much gold those little hands shall hold,

And wealth about thy life shall fold,

And thou shalt see nor pain nor strife,

Nor the low ills of common life.

These little feet shall never tread

Except on paths soft-carpeted,

And all life's flowers in wreaths shall twine

To deck that darling head of thine.