The days are cold, the nights are long,
The north-wind sings a doleful song;
Then hush again upon my breast;
All merry things are now at rest,
Save thee, my pretty Love! 5

The kitten sleeps upon the hearth,
The crickets long have ceased their mirth;
There's nothing stirring in the house
Save one _wee_, hungry, nibbling mouse,
Then why so busy thou? 10

Nay! start not at that sparkling light;
'Tis but the moon that shines so bright
On the window pane bedropped with rain:
Then, little Darling! sleep again,
And wake when it is day. 15



This poem underwent no change in successive editions. The title in all
the earlier ones (1815 to 1843) was 'The Cottager to her Infant. By a
Female Friend'; and in the preface to the edition of 1815, Wordsworth
wrote,

"Three short pieces (now first published) are the work of a Female