Joanna Baillie

Think'st thou there are no serpents in the world
But those who slide along the grassy sod,
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Think'st thou there are no serpents in the world
But those who slide along the grassy sod,
And sting the luckless foot that presses them?
There are who in the path of social life
Do bask their spotted skins in Fortune's sun,
And sting the soul.

The hushed winds wail with feeble moan
Like infant charity.

The hushed winds wail with feeble moan
Like infant charity.

Sweet sleep be with us, one and all!
And if upon its stillness fall
The visions of read more

Sweet sleep be with us, one and all!
And if upon its stillness fall
The visions of a busy brain,
We'll have our pleasure o'er again,
To warm the heart, to charm the sight,
Gay dreams to all! good night, good night.

But woman's grief is like a summer storm,
Short as it violent is.

But woman's grief is like a summer storm,
Short as it violent is.