Lydia Huntley Sigourney (Лидия Сигурни)

* * *

I must not tease my mother,
For she is very kind;
And everything she says to me
I must directly mind;
For when I was a baby,
And could not speak or walk.
She let me in her bosom sleep,
And taught me how to talk.

I must not tease my mother;
And when she likes to read,
Or has the headache, I will step
Most silently indeed:
I will not choose a noisy play,
Nor trifling troubles tell,
But sit down quite by her side,
And try to make her well.

I must not tease my mother;
I've heard dear father say
When I was in my cradle sick
She nursed me night and day;
she lays me in my little bed,
She gives me clothes and food,
And I have nothing else to pay
But trying to be good.

I must not tease my mother;
She loves me all the day,
And she has patience with my faults,
And teaches me to pray,
How much I'll strive to please her,
She every hour shall see,
For should she go away or die,
What would become of me?

Lydia Huntley Sigourney’s other poems:

  1. The Indian’s Welcome to the Pilgrim Fathers
  2. Flora’s Party
  3. Indian Summer
  4. Death of an Infant
  5. Sudden Death

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