Though difficult the days, when in my arms Banished were the demons of the night, Forgotten in the moment all the harms, The terrors and the all-consuming fright, The painful blows, the cataract of tears, The beatings with the lash that sears the soul And childhood's nightmare memories and fears That on the blossoming spirit take their toll. I call her mon petite, my little one Who with such tender care revived my heart From loneliness and self-oblivion That I might heal and see my grief depart.
Poems Undated (1727)
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