HOW steadfastly she worked at it! <br /> How lovingly had drest <br />With all her would-be-mother’s wit <br /> That little rosy nest! <br /> <br />How longingly she ’d hung on it!— <br /> It sometimes seemed, she said, <br />There lay beneath its coverlet <br /> A little sleeping head. <br /> <br />He came at last, the tiny guest, <br /> Ere bleak December fled; <br />That rosy nest he never prest… <br /> Her coffin was his bed.<br /><br />Austin Henry Dobson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-cradle/
