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Full Online Book HomePoemsTo My Dear Little Boys, James, Christopher And Alfred
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To My Dear Little Boys, James, Christopher And Alfred Post by :AskShari Category :Poems Author :Thomas Cowherd Date :October 2011 Read :2590

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To My Dear Little Boys, James, Christopher And Alfred

Three lovely boys who bear my name,
Have all upon me equal claim,
And seem to ask a rhyme from me--
A humble poet as you see.
James, Christopher and Alfred, dear,
You often do my spirit cheer,
Each in his own most charming way,
From hour to hour, from day to day.
James by his often tuneful mood,
And other things best understood
By a fond parent, at the time,
To he as sweet as music's chime.
In him, though young, my eye can trace
A something in his pretty face
Which shows strong passion lurks within
That childish breast--the fruit of sin.
I also think I truly see
A trait somewhat too miserly.
I may be wrong--I hope I am,
For 'twould be sad in my sweet lamb.

Then Chris, what must I say of him,
Who shows us many a little whim?
But with it all displays affection
For one so young in much perfection,
And can forget his sorrows all,
Though his young heart he filled with gall.
If but his mother seem to cry
he upward turns his bright brown eye,
And asks so earnestly a kiss
That we're compelled to love our Chris.

Once, dear child, O strange to tell,
From brother Willie's knee he fell
And sadly burned his little arm,
Which greatly filled us with alarm.
He cried, as might have been expected,
And quick relief was not neglected.
But while his heart was fit to burst,
He spied a wound on Mamma's hand,
And though his own w as far the worst,
The sight of Hers he could not stand.
He ceased his crying, gave a sigh,
"Poor Mamma's sore," (Footnote: A literal fact) became his cry.
My darling child, this act of thine
Makes me right glad to call thee mine.

But I must hasten; one remains
Who well deserves my ablest strains.
This is my Alfred--lovely babe
A smiling cherub sure art thou,
How can I best describe thy charms?
How can I write about thee now?
Nearly four months have passed away
Since thou first saw the light of day;
And in that time we've hardly had
One tedious night with thee, my lad.
By day thy chirruping and smiles
Thy own dear mother's heart beguiles,
And makes me run a dreadful risk
Of falling to idolatry!
But let me tell thee, little Frisk,
This will not do for thee or me!
'Tis time to quit; I cease to write,
And bid my precious babes good night!

(The end)
Thomas Cowherd's poem: To My Dear Little Boys, James, Christopher And Alfred

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To Alfred, Just Learning To Walk To Alfred, Just Learning To Walk

To Alfred, Just Learning To Walk
O, Alfred dear, thou wilt, I fear, Get burned before 'tis long;Thy little tricks with fiery sticks Have called forth this my song.That roguish eye seems to defy All I can say or do.Thy chubby face does not disgrace The food thou art used to.Come now, my boy, thy skill employ In walking to Papa;Well, now, my child, I own I smiled To see thee choose thy Ma.But still I will that thou fulfill My just commands to thee;Sometime I shall soon make thee squall For disobeying me!And now a walk or else

To The Same, When Away From Home To The Same, When Away From Home

To The Same, When Away From Home
Oh, when will my beloved come To her own home again?Surely it will not be my doomTo miss her always in each room, And of her loss complain.Dear Chris and Jenny wish her home, And ask why she's not here;And I in quest of her would roam,But fear to miss her much-loved form, Which I would hope is near.Yet I would not impatient be; Thou art on Mother tending.Thy love to her I like to see.It will not lessen mine to thee, Until my life is ending.And should'st thou stay another week, A month,