I verily believe that I never took infant in my arms that did not the moment it was there by its cries beg to be removed.

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!

I verily believe that I never took infant in my arms that did not the moment it was there by its cries beg to be removed.

The moon shone like herrings in the water.

I've been a dweller on the plains, have sighed when summer days were gone; No more I'll sigh; for winter here Hath gladsome gardens of his own.

The moonlight lay upon the hills like snow.

The moon had the old moon in her arms.