 The Toys, by Coventry Patmore, read for LibriVox.org by Crown Daisy. My little son, who looked from thoughtful eyes, and moved and spoke in quiet grown-up wise, having my law the seventh time disobeyed, I struck him, and dismissed with hard words and unkissed. His mother, who was patient, being dead, then fearing lest his grief should hinder sleep, I visited his bed, but found him slumbering deep, with darkened eyelids and their lashes yet from his late sobbing wet, and I with moan, kissing away his tears, left others of my own. For on a table beside his head he had put within his reach a box of counters, and a red veined stone, a piece of glass abraded by the beach, and six or seven shells, a bottle with blue bells, and two French copper coins ranged there with careful art, to comfort his sad heart. So when that night I prayed, to God I wept and said, and when at last we lie with transit breath, not vexing thee in death, and thou rememberest of what toys we made our joys, how weakly understood thy great commanded good, then, fatherly not less, than I whom now has moulded from the clay, thou wilt leave thy wrath and say, I will be sorry for their childishness. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Toys by Coventry Patmore, read for libraryvox.org by Claire Leung, my little son, who looked from thoughtful eyes, and moved and spoke in quiet, grown-up voice. Having my law the seventh time disobeyed, I struck him and dismissed with hard words and unkissed. His mother, who was patient in death, then fearing last his grief should hinder sleep. I visited his bed, but found him slumbering deep, with darkened eyelids and volatious yet, from his late sobbing wet. And I, with moan, kissing away his tears, left others of my own. For on a table drawn beside his head, he had put within his reach a box of counters and a red-banded stone, a piece of glass abraded by the beach, and six or seven shells, a bottle of bluebells, and two French copper coins, ranged there with careful art to comfort his sad heart. So when that night I prayed, to God, I wept and sinned. I went at last to rely with a tranced breath, not vexing thee in death, and thou rememberest of what toys we made our joys, how weakly understood, thy great commanded good, then, fatherly, not less, than I whom thou hast molded from the clay, thou'dst leave thy wrath and say, I will be sorry for thy childishness. End of poem. The recording is in public domain. The Toys by Coventry Patmore, read for LibriVox.org by DailyBab. My little son, who looked from thoughtful eyes and moved and spoke in quite grown-up wise, having my law the seventh time disobeyed, I struck him, and dismissed with hard words and unkissed. His mother, who was patient, being dead. Then, fearing lest his grief should hinder sleep, I visited his bed, but found him slumbering deep, with darkened eyelids and their lashes yet from his late sobbing wet, and I, with moan, kissing away his tears, left others of my own. For, on a table drawn beside his head, he had put within his reach a box of counters and a red-veined stone, a piece of glass abraded by the beach, and six or seven shells, a bottle with bluebells, and two French copper coins, ranged there with curfew art to comfort his sad heart. So when that night I prayed to God, I wept and said, Ah, when at last we lie with transit breath, not vexing thee in death, and thou rememberst of what toys we made our joys. How weakly understood thy great commanded good, then, fatherly, not less than I whom thou has moulded from the clay, thou leave thy wrath and say, I will be sorry for their childishness. End of poem. This recording is in the Public Domain. THE TOYS My little son, who looked from thoughtful eyes and moved and spoke in quiet grown-up wise, having my law the seventh time disobeyed, I struck him and dismissed with hard words and unkissed, his mother, who was patient, being dead. Then, fearing lest his grief should hinder sleep, I visited his bed, but slumbering deep, with darkened eyelids and their lashes yet from his late sobbing wet, and I with moan, kissing away his tears, left others of my own. For on a table drawn beside his head he had put within his reach, a box of counters and a red-veined stone, a piece of glass abraded by the beach, and six or seven shells, a bottle with blue bells, and two French copper coins ranged there with curfew art to comfort his sad heart. So when that night I prayed to God, I wept and said, Ah, when at last we lie with transit breath, not vexing thee in death, and thou rememberest of what toys we made our joys, how weakly understood thy great commanded good, then fatherly not less, than I whom thou hast moulded from the clay, thou leave thy wrath and say, I will be sorry for their childishness. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. For on a table drawn beside his head he had put within his reach, a box of counters and a red-veined stone, a piece of glass abraded by the beach, and six or seven shells, a bottle with blue bells, and two French copper coins ranged there with curfew art to comfort his sad heart. So when that night I prayed to God, I wept and said, Ah, when at last we lie with transit breath, not vexing thee in death, and thou rememberest of what toys we made our joys, how weakly understood thy great commanded good, then fatherly not less, than I whom thou hast moulded from the clay, thou leave thy wrath and say, I will be sorry for their childishness. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. His mother who was patient being dead. Then fearing lest his grief should hinder sleep, I visited his bed, but found him slumbering deep, with darkened eyelids and their lashes yet from his late sobbing wet. And I, with moan, kissing away his tears left others of my own. For, on a table drawn beside his head, he had put within his reach a box of counters and a red veined stone, a piece of glass abraded by the beach, and six or seven shells, a bottle with blue bells, and two French copper coins ranged there with curfew art to comfort his sad heart. So when that night I prayed, to God I wept and said, when at last we lie with transit breath, not vexing thee in death, and thou rememberest of what toys we made our joys, how weakly understood thy great commanded good, then fatherly not less, than I whom thou hast moulded from the clay, though it leave thy wrath and say, I will be sorry for their childishness. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. During my law the seventh time disobeyed, I struck him and his mist with hard words and unkissed, his mother, who was patient being dead. Then, fearing lest his grief should hinder sleep, I visited his bed, but found him slumbering deep with darkened eyelids and their lashes yet from his late sobbing wet. And I, with moan, kissing away his tears, left others of my own. For on a table drawn beside his head he had put within his reach a box of counters and a red veined stone, a piece of glass abraded by the beach, and six or seven shells, a bottle with blue bells, and two French copper coins, ranged there with careful art to comfort his sad heart. So, when that night I prayed to God, I wept, and said, When at last will I with transit breath, not vexing thee in death, thou rememberest of what toys we made our joys, how weakly understood thy great commanded good. Then, fatherly, not less than I whom thou hast moulded from the clay, thou would leave thy wrath, and say, I will be sorry for the childishness, end of poem. This recording is in the public domain. My little son, who looked from thoughtful eyes, and moved and spoke in quiet grown-up wise, having my law the seventh time disobeyed, I struck him, and dismissed with hard words and un-kissed his mother, who was patient, being dead. Then, fearing lest his grief should hinder sleep, I visited his bed, but found him slumbering deep, with darkened eyelids, and their lashes yet from his late sobbing wet. And I, with moan, kissing away his tears, left others of my own. For, on a table drawn beside his bed, he had put within his reach, a box of counters and a red veined stone, a piece of glass abraded by the beach, and six or seven shells, a barrel with bluebells, and two French copper coins ranged there with careful art, to comfort his sad heart. So when that night I prayed to God, I wept, and said, Ah, when at last we lie with transit breath, not vexing thee in death, and thou rememberest of what toys we made our joys, how weakly understood thy great commanded good, then fatherly not less than I whom thou hast molded from the clay, thou leave thy wrath and say, I will be sorry for their childishness. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Toys by Coventry Patmore, read for Librevox.org by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio, May 5, 2010. My little son, who looked from thoughtful eyes, and moved and spoke, in quiet, grown-up wise, having my law the seventh time disobeyed, I struck him, and dismissed with hard words, and unkissed, his mother, who was patient being dead. Then, fearing lest his grief should hinder sleep, I visited his bed, but found him slumbering deep with darkened eyelids, and their lashes yet from his late sobbing wet. And I, with moan, kissing away his tears, left others of my own. For on a table drawn beside his head he had put within his reach a box of counters and a red-veined stone, a piece of glass abraded by the beach, and six or seven shells, a bottle with blue bells, and two French copper coins, ranged there with careful art to comfort his sad heart. So, when that night I prayed to God, I wept and said, Ah, when at last we lie with transit breath, not vexing thee in death, and thou rememberest of what toys we made our joys, how weakly understood thine great commanded good. Then, fatherly not less than I, whom thou hast moulded from the clay, thou wilt leave thy wrath and say, I will be sorry for their childishness. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Who looked from thoughtful eyes and moved and spoke in quiet grown-up whys. Having my law the seventh time disobeyed, I struck him and dismissed, with hard words and unkissed. His mother, who was patient being dead. Then, fearing lest his grief should hinder sleep, I visited his bed, but found him slumbering deep, with darkened eyelids and their lashes yet from his late sobbing wet. And I, with moan, kissing away his tears, left others of my own. For on a table drawn beside his head he had put within his reach a box of counters and a red veined stone, a piece of glass abraded by the beach, and six or seven shells, a bottle with blue-bells, and two French copper coins ranged there with careful art to comfort his sad heart. So when that night I prayed to God I wept and said, Ah, when at last we lie with transit breath, not vexing thee in death, and thou rememberst of what toys we made our joys, how weakly understood thy great commanded good, then, fatherly, not less than I whom thou hast moulded from the clay, dalt leave thy wrath and say, I will be sorry for their childishness. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The mother who was patient, being dead, then, fearing less his grief should hinder sleep, I visited his bed, but found him slumbering deep, with darkened eyelids and their lashes yet from his late sobbing wet. And I, with moan, kissing away his tears, left others of my own. And I, with moan, kissing away his tears, left others of my own. For on a table drawn beside his head he had put within his reach a box of counters and a red-veined stone, a piece of glass abraded by the beach and six or seven shells, a bottle with bluebells, and two French copper coins ranged there with careful art to comfort his sad heart. So when that night I prayed to God I wept and said, I, when at last we lie with transit breath, not vexing thee in death, and thou rememberest of what toys we made our joys, how weakly understood the great commanded good, then fatherly not less than I, whom thou hast molded from the clay, dalt leave thy wrath and say, I will be sorry for their childishness. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Toys by Coventry Patmore. Read for LibriVox.org by Ruth Golding. My little son, who looked from thoughtful eyes and moved and spoke in quiet grown-up-wise, having my law the seventh time disobeyed, I struck him and dismissed with hard words and unkissed, his mother, who was patient being dead. Then, fearing lest his grief should hinder sleep, I visited his bed, but found him slumbering deep with darkened eyelids and their lashes yet from his late sobbing wet. And I, with moan, kissing away his tears left others of my own. For, on a table drawn beside his head, he had put within his reach a box of counters and a red-veined stone, a piece of glass abraded by the beach, and six or seven shells, a bottle with blue-bells, and two French copper coins ranged there with careful art to comfort his sad heart. So, when that night I prayed to God, I wept and said, ah, when at last we lie with trance at breath, not vexing thee in death, and thou rememberest of what toys we made our joys, how weakly understood thy great commanded good. Then, fatherly, not less than I whom thou hast moulded from the clay, thou leave thy wrath, and say, I will be sorry for their childishness. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Toys by Coventry Patmore Read for LibriBox.org by Revan Notation My little son, who looked from thoughtful eyes, and moved and spoke inquired grown-up wise, having my law the seventh time disobeyed, I struck him and dismissed with hard words and unkissed, his mother, who was patient, being dead. Then, fearing lest his grief should hinder sleep, I visited his bed, but found him slumbering deep with darkened eyelids and their lashes, yet from his late sobbing wet, and I, with moan, kissing away his tears, left others of my own. For, on a table drawn beside his head, he had put within his reach a box of counters and a red-veined stone, a piece of glass abraded by the beach, and six or seven shells, a bottle with blue bells, and two French copper coins ranged there with careful art to comfort his sad heart. So, when that night I prayed to God, I wept and said, Ah, when at last we lie with transit breath, not vexing thee in death, and thou rememberest of what toys we made our joys, how weakly understood thy great commanded good, then, fatherly, not less, than I whom thou hast moulded from the clay, thou it leave thy wrath and say, I will be sorry for their childishness. End of poem. This recording is in the