A Cradle Song by William Butler Yeats
The angels are bending
Above your white bed;
They weary of tending
The souls of the dead.
God smiles in high heaven
To see you so good;
The old planets seven
Grow gay with His mood.
I kiss you and kiss you,
With arms round my own;
Ah, how shall I miss you,
When, dear, you have grown.
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