Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=540128" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Emigrant Mother</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">ONCE in a lonely hamlet I sojourned<br>In which a Lady driven from France did dwell;<br>The big and lesser griefs with which she mourned,<br>In friendship she to me would often tell.<br>This Lady, dwelling upon British ground,<br>Where she was childless, daily would repair<br>To a poor neighbouring cottage; as I found,<br>For sake of a young Child whose home was there.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Once having seen her clasp with fond embrace<br>This Child, I chanted to myself a lay,<br>Endeavouring, in our English tongue, to trace<br>Such things as she unto the Babe might say:<br>And thus, from what I heard and knew, or guessed,<br>My song the workings of her heart expressed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Dear Babe, thou daughter of another,<br>One moment let me be thy mother!<br>An infant's face and looks are thine,<br>And sure a mother's heart is mine:<br>Thy own dear mother's far away,<br>At labour in the harvest field:<br>Thy little sister is at play;--<br>What warmth, what comfort would it yield<br>To my poor heart, if thou wouldst be<br>One little hour a child to me!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Across the waters I am come,<br>And I have left a babe at home:<br>A long, long way of land and sea!<br>Come to me--I'm no enemy:<br>I am the same who at thy side<br>Sate yesterday, and made a nest<br>For thee, sweet Baby!--thou hast tried,<br>Thou know'st the pillow of my breast;<br>Good, good art thou:--alas! to me<br>Far more than I can be to thee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Here, little Darling, dost thou lie;<br>An infant thou, a mother I!<br>Mine wilt thou be, thou hast no fears;<br>Mine art thou--spite of these my tears.<br>Alas! before I left the spot,<br>My baby and its dwelling-place;<br>The nurse said to me, 'Tears should not<br>Be shed upon an infant's face,<br>It was unlucky'--no, no, no;<br>No truth is in them who say so!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'My own dear Little-one will sigh,<br>Sweet Babe! and they will let him die.<br>'He pines,' they'll say, 'it is his doom,<br>And you may see his hour is come.'<br>Oh! had he but thy cheerful smiles,<br>Limbs stout as thine, and lips as gay,<br>Thy looks, thy cunning, and thy wiles,<br>And countenance like a summer's day,<br>They would have hopes of him;--and then<br>I should behold his face again!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">V</div><div style="margin:10px 0">''Tis gone--like dreams that we forget;<br>There was a smile or two--yet--yet<br>I can remember them, I see<br>The smiles, worth all the world to me.<br>Dear Baby! I must lay thee down;<br>Thou troublest me with strange alarms;<br>Smiles hast thou, bright ones of thy own;<br>I cannot keep thee in my arms;<br>For they confound me;--where--where is<br>That last, that sweetest smile of his?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VI</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Oh! how I love thee!--we will stay<br>Together here this one half day.<br>My sister's child, who bears my name,<br>From France to sheltering England came;<br>She with her mother crossed the sea;<br>The babe and mother near me dwell:<br>Yet does my yearning heart to thee<br>Turn rather, though I love her well:<br>Rest, little Stranger, rest thee here!<br>Never was any child more dear!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VII</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'--I cannot help it; ill intent<br>I've none, my pretty Innocent!<br>I weep--I know they do thee wrong,<br>These tears---and my poor idle tongue.<br>Oh, what a kiss was that! my cheek<br>How cold it is! but thou art good;<br>Thine eyes are on me--they would speak,<br>I think, to help me if they could.<br>Blessings upon that soft, warm face,<br>My heart again is in its place!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VIII</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'While thou art mine, my little Love,<br>This cannot be a sorrowful grove;<br>Contentment, hope, and mother's glee,<br>I seem to find them all in thee:<br>Here's grass to play with, here are flowers;<br>I'll call thee by my darling's name;<br>Thou hast, I think, a look of ours,<br>Thy features seem to me the same;<br>His little sister thou shalt be;<br>And, when once more my home I see,<br>I'll tell him many tales of Thee.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Wordsworth">William Wordsworth</a><div class=q>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=540128" data-title="The Emigrant Mother de William Wordsworth" data-description="ONCE in a lonely hamlet I sojourned
In which a Lady driven from France did dwell;
The big and lesser griefs with which she mourned,
In friendship she to me would often tell.
This Lady, dwelling upon British ground,
Where she was childless, daily w..."></div>
</div>
</div>