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Best Famous Baby Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Baby poems. This is a select list of the best famous Baby poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Baby poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of baby poems.

Search for the best famous Baby poems, articles about Baby poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Baby poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See also: Best Member Poems

by Christina Rossetti | |

Holy Innocents

 Sleep, little Baby, sleep,
The holy Angels love thee,
And guard thy bed, and keep
A blessed watch above thee.
No spirit can come near Nor evil beast to harm thee: Sleep, Sweet, devoid of fear Where nothing need alarm thee.
The Love which doth not sleep, The eternal arms around thee: The shepherd of the sheep In perfect love has found thee.
Sleep through the holy night, Christ-kept from snare and sorrow, Until thou wake to light And love and warmth to-morrow.


by Edwin Arlington Robinson | |

Reuben Bright

 Because he was a butcher and thereby 
Did earn an honest living (and did right), 
I would not have you think that Reuben Bright
Was any more a brute than you or I; 
For when they told him that his wife must die, 
He stared at them, and shook with grief and fright, 
And cried like a great baby half that night, 
And made the women cry to see him cry.
And after she was dead, and he had paid The singers and the sexton and the rest, He packed a lot of things that she had made Most mournfully away in an old chest Of hers, and put some chopped-up cedar boughs In with them, and tore down the slaughter-house.


by George William Russell | |

Age and Youth

 WE have left our youth behind:
 Earth is in its baby years:
Void of wisdom cries the wind,
 And the sunlight knows no tears.
When shall twilight feel the awe, All the rapt thought of the sage, And the lips of wind give law Drawn from out their lore of age? When shall earth begin to burn With such love as thrills my breast? When shall we together turn To our long, long home for rest? Child and father, we grow old While you laugh and play with flowers; And life’s tale for us is told Holding only empty hours.
Giant child, on you await All the hopes and fears of men.
In thy fulness is our fate— What till then, oh, what till then?


by Ella Wheeler Wilcox | |

By-And-Bye

 ‘By-and-bye, ’ the maiden sighed – ‘by-and-bye
He will claim me for his bride, 
Hope is strong and time is fleet; 
Youth is fair, and love is sweet, 
Clouds will pass that fleck my sky, 
He will come back by-and-bye.
’ ‘By-and-bye, ’ the soldier said – ‘by-and-bye, After I have fought and bled, I shall go home from the wars, Crowned with glory, seamed with scars, Joy will flash from some one’s eye When she greets me by-and-bye- by-and-bye.
’ ‘By-and-bye, ’ the mother cried – ‘by-and-bye, Strong and sturdy at my side, Like a staff supporting me, Will my bonnie baby be.
Break my rest, then, wail and cry – Thou’lt repay me by-and-bye - by-and-bye.
’ Fleeting years of time have sped – hurried by – Still the maiden is unwed: All unknown soldier lies, Buried under alien skies; And the son, with blood-shot eye, Saw his mother starve and die.
God in heaven! dost Thou on high Keep the promised ‘by-and-bye’ - by-and-bye?


by Henry Van Dyke | |

The Message

 Waking from tender sleep,
My neighbour's little child
Put out his baby hand to me,
Looked in my face, and smiled.
It seemed as if he came Home from a happy land, To tell me something that my heart Would surely understand.
Somewhere, among bright dreams, A child that once was mine Had whispered wordless love to him, And given him a sign.
Comfort of kindly speech, And counsel of the wise, Have helped me less than what I read In those deep-smiling eyes.
Sleep sweetly, little friend, And dream again of heaven: With double love I kiss your hand,-- Your message has been given.


by David Herbert Lawrence | |

A Baby Asleep after Pain

 As a drenched, drowned bee 
Hangs numb and heavy from a bending flower, 
So clings to me 
My baby, her brown hair brushed with wet tears 
And laid against her cheek;
Her soft white legs hanging heavily over my arm 
Swinging heavily to my movements as I walk.
My sleeping baby hangs upon my life, Like a burden she hangs on me.
She has always seemed so light, But now she is wet with tears and numb with pain Even her floating hair sinks heavily, Reaching downwards; As the wings of a drenched, drowned bee Are a heaviness, and a weariness.


by David Herbert Lawrence | |

A Baby Running Barefoot

 When the bare feet of the baby beat across the grass
The little white feet nod like white flowers in the wind, 
They poise and run like ripples lapping across the water;
And the sight of their white play among the grass 
Is like a little robin’s song, winsome,
Or as two white butterflies settle in the cup of one flower
For a moment, then away with a flutter of wings.
I long for the baby to wander hither to me Like a wind-shadow wandering over the water, So that she can stand on my knee With her little bare feet in my hands, Cool like syringa buds, Firm and silken like pink young peony flowers.


by Julie Hill Alger | by Julie Hill Alger. You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/famous/poem/23147/Tuesdays_Child' st_title='Tuesday's Child'>|

Tuesday's Child

All the babies born that Tuesday,
full of grace, went home by Thursday
except for one, my tiny girl
who rushed toward light too soon.
All the Tuesday mothers wheeled down the corridor in glory, their arms replete with warm baby; I carried a potted plant.
I came back the next day and the next, a visitor with heavy breasts, to sit and rock the little pilgrim, nourish her, nourish me.


by Duncan Campbell Scott | |

The Onondaga Madonna

 She stands full-throated and with careless pose,
This woman of a weird and waning race,
The tragic savage lurking in her face,
Where all her pagan passion burns and glows;
Her blood is mingled with her ancient foes,
And thrills with war and wildness in her veins;
Her rebel lips are dabbled with the stains
Of feuds and forays and her father's woes.
And closer in the shawl about her breast, The latest promise of her nation's doom, Paler than she her baby clings and lies, The primal warrior gleaming from his eyes; He sulks, and burdened with his infant gloom, He draws his heavy brows and will not rest.


by Alec Derwent (A D) Hope | |

The School of Night

 What did I study in your School of Night? 
When your mouth's first unfathomable yes 
Opened your body to be my book, I read 
My answers there and learned the spell aright, 
Yet, though I searched and searched, could never guess 
What spirits it raised nor where their questions led.
Those others, familiar tenants of your sleep, The whisperers, the grave somnambulists Whose eyes turn in to scrutinize their woe, The giant who broods above the nightmare steep, That sleeping girl, shuddering, with clenched fists, A vampire baby suckling at her toe, They taught me most.
The scholar held his pen And watched his blood drip thickly on the page To form a text in unknown characters Which, as I scanned them, changed and changed again: The lines grew bars, the bars a Delphic cage And I the captive of his magic verse.


by | |

Baby Dolly

 

Hush, baby, my dolly, I pray you don't cry,
And I'll give you some bread, and some milk by-and-by;
Or perhaps you like custard, or, maybe, a tart,
Then to either you're welcome, with all my heart.


by | |

Bye, Baby Bunting


Bye, baby bunting,
Father's gone a-hunting,
Mother's gone a-milking,
Sister's gone a-silking,
And brother's gone to buy a skin
To wrap the baby bunting in.


by | |

Cry, Baby


Cry, baby, cry,
Put your finger in your eye,
And tell your mother it wasn't I.


by | |

Dance, Little Baby


Dance, little Baby, dance up high!
Never mind, Baby, Mother is by.
Crow and caper, caper and crow,
There, little Baby, there you go!
Up to the ceiling, down to the ground,
Backwards and forwards, round and round;
Dance, little Baby and Mother will sing,
With the merry coral, ding, ding, ding!


by | |

For Baby


You shall have an apple,
YOU shall have a plum,
You shall have a rattle,
When papa comes home.


by | |

Hush-A-Bye


Hush-a-bye, baby, lie still with thy daddy,
  Thy mammy has gone to the mill,
To get some meal to bake a cake,
  So pray, my dear baby, lie still.


  Hush-a-bye, baby,
    Daddy is near;
Mamma is a lady,
  And that's very clear.



by | |

Hush-A-Bye

 

Hush-a-bye, baby, on the tree top!
When the wind blows the cradle will rock;
When the bough breaks the cradle will fall;
Down will come baby, bough, cradle and all.


by | |

Play Days


How many days has my baby to play?
    Saturday, Sunday, Monday,
Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday,
    Saturday, Sunday, Monday.


by | |

Rock-A-Bye, Baby


Rock-a-bye, baby, thy cradle is green;
Father's a nobleman, mother's a queen;
And Betty's a lady, and wears a gold ring;
And Johnny's a drummer, and drums for the king.


by | |

Sleep, Baby, Sleep

 

  Sleep, baby, sleep,
Our cottage vale is deep:
The little lamb is on the green,
With woolly fleece so soft and clean--
  Sleep, baby, sleep.
  Sleep, baby, sleep,
Down where the woodbines creep;
Be always like the lamb so mild,
A kind, and sweet, and gentle child.
  Sleep, baby, sleep.


by | |

Three Straws


Three straws on a staff
Would make a baby cry and laugh.


by Erin Belieu | |

Legend of the Albino Farm

 Omaha, Nebraska They do not sleep nights
but stand between

rows of glowing corn and
cabbages grown on acres past

the edge of the city.
Surrendered flags, their nightgowns furl and unfurl around their legs.
Only women could be this white.
Like mules, they are sterile and it appears that their mouths are always open.
Because they are thin as weeds, the albinos look hungry.
If you drive out to the farm, tree branches will point the way.
No map will show where, no phone is listed.
It will seem that the moon, plump above their shoulders, is constant, orange as harvest all year long.
We say, when a mother gives birth to an albino girl, she feigns sleep after labor while an Asian man steals in, spirits the pale baby away.


by Paul Laurence Dunbar | |

Sympathy

 If I were only a little puppy, not your baby, mother dear, would
you say "No" to me if I tried to eat from your dish?
Would you drive me off, saying to me, "Get away, you naughty
little puppy?"
Then go, mother, go! I will never come to you when you call
me, and never let you feed me any more.
If I were only a little green parrot, and not your baby, mother dear, would you keep me chained lest I should fly away? Would you shake your finger at me and say, "What an ungrateful wretch of a bird! It is gnawing at its chain day and night?" The go, mother, go! I will run away into the woods; I will never let you take me in your arms again.


by Bob Kaufman | |

Round About Midnight

 Jazz radio on a midnight kick,
Round about Midnight.
Sitting on the bed, With a jazz type chick Round about Midnight, Piano laughter, in my ears, Round about Midnight.
Stirring up laughter, dying tears, Round about Midnight.
Soft blue voices, muted grins, Excited voices, Father's sins, Round about Midnight.
Come on baby, take off your clothes, Round about Midnight.


by Jackie Kay | |

Baby Lazarus

 When I got home
I went out into the garden
Liking it when the frost bit
My old brown boots
And dug a hole the size of a baby
And buried the clothes
I'd bought anyway, just in case.
A week later I stood at my window And saw the ground move And swell the promise of a crop; That's when she started crying.
I gave her a service then Sang Ye Banks And Braes Planted a bush of roses Read from the Bible, the book of Job Cursed myself digging a pit for my baby Sprinkling ash from the grate.
Late that same night She came in by the window My baby Lazarus And suckled at my breast.