Poem From a Nanny

From a Nanny, to my young Lord Byron (1799)

This is a difficult time for both of us.

For your part, I fear you are becoming too old for me;

Becoming a young man, looking more and more like your father every day

And less the fat and dimpled chestnut-haired boy I have known since the age of three.

Your days are no longer spent in my company,

And I know not how you appear in the eyes of these young girls whose company you keep;

Whether they already smile at you, blush and become quite shy so near you,

Or pay you no mind at all, failing to see the tender young beauty I see blooming

As I stand beside your bed tonight and watch you sleep.

For my part, I do know that these are hard times to be one who cares for children as I care for you;

We are watched and questioned in our work, studied and scrutinized in our every move,

And should your mother glimpse me now, gazing upon your sleeping form with admiration for its beauty,

Surely she would think to disapprove.

But if she, seeing me here now, would judge me worthy of reproach,

If she would speculate on the thoughts that fill my mind as I watch you

And imagine me, like Witch in fairy tale,

Come down upon your room tonight to snatch you,

So let it be.

It is worth it,

To steal thus into your room this night,

And kiss you thus upon the cheek.