Love, the Baby

Let him be sold, I say ! Let him be sold,
Even while he slumbers at his mother's breast.
Why should I tend a thing so bad and bold,
A snub-nosed imp, a little scratching pest !

I find him always laughing through his tears :
He treats his mother badly ; won't be tamed,
Has baby wings behind him ; pries and peers,
Behaves unruly, chatters unashamed, —

A shocking monster ! Sailor men, this way !
Who wants a boy to carry off to sea ?
Oh dear, he's crying ! Come, I'll let you stay
Close to the heart of my Zenophile.