Cradle Song

Sleep, sleep, beauty bright,
Dreaming in the joys of night;
Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit and weep.

Sweet babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
Little pretty infant wiles.

As thy softest limbs I feel,
Smiles as of the morning steal
O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast
Where thy little heart doth rest.

O the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep!
When thy little heart doth wake,
Then the dreadful night shall break.

William Blake

Helping Hand

Thursday, 23 February 2012


Þorgerður Says:
23 February 2012 at 18:00

mmm that little hand :)

Marsupial Mama Says:
25 February 2012 at 07:34

Thank you! As long as she's not grabbing fistfuls of the dog or throwing stuff around, yes that hand can be pretty sweet... **lol**

jass Says:
5 March 2012 at 06:21

Such a Nice post! I like it.

Helping Hands

Marsupial Mama Says:
5 March 2012 at 07:13

Thank you! :)

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The Clod and the Pebble

"Love seeketh not itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care,
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a heaven in hell's despair."

So sung a little Clod of Clay,
Trodden with the cattle's feet,
But a Pebble of the brook
Warbled out these metres meet:

"Love seeketh only Self to please,
To bind another to its delight,
Joys in another's loss of ease,
And builds a hell in heaven's despite."

William Blake
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