Sleep, my childie, sleep I' the hush of evening deep, Gone the last long-lingering beam From where the tender violets dream With closed eyes by the woodland stream: Sleep, my childie, sleep. Sleep, my childie, sleep; Fresh dews of twilight creep Through folded blooms of eglantine, Speedwell and harebell and woodbine; Yet open the large white bugles shine: Sleep, my childie, sleep. Sleep, my childie, sleep. Now dewy planets creep Through skies of fading purple-rose, Yon elm full-foliaged overflows With those love-songs the blackbird knows: Sleep, my childie, sleep. Sleep, my childie, sleep; Now drowsy birdies keep More silence; rare the cuckoo's note, The dove's low plaint hath ceased to float, Sweet breezes flutter in and out: Sleep, my childie, sleep. |