From torrid heat to frigid cold
  I've rovered land and sea;
And now, with halting heart I hold
  My grandchild on my knee:
Yet while I've eighty years all told,
  Of moons she has but three.
 
She sleeps, that fragile miniature
  Of future maidenhood;
She will be wonderful, I'm sure,
  As over her I brood;
She is so innocent, so pure,
  I know she will be good.

My way I've won from woe to weal,
  And hard has been the fight;
Yet in my ingle-nook I feel
  A wondrous peace to-night;
And over me serenely steal
  Warm waves of love and light.

"What sloppy stuff!" I hear you say.
  "Give us a lusty song."
Alas! I'm bent and gnarled and grey,--
  My life may not be long:
Yet let its crown of glory be
  This child upon me knee.

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"Baby Sitter by Robert William Service" Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2018. Web. 19 Feb. 2018. <http://www.poetry.net/poem/31999>.

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