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Sara Teasdale, comp. (1884–1933).
The Answering Voice: One Hundred Love Lyrics by Women. 1917.


Irene Rutherford McLeod

AS a little child I come

To be gathered to your breast

So tired that my lips are dumb,

So sad that my warm heart is numb:

Belovèd, let me rest.

Oh, how all the noises die,

All the cruel voices cease,

I can sleep when you are by,

And I am too faint to cry:

Here at last is peace.

Hold me, nurse me, love me … so …

Almost I could learn to weep!

Hush, I feel my spirit grow …

When you tire … let me go …

I shall be … asleep.