Poem by Eugene Field

A Lullaby

The stars are twinkling in the skies,
  The earth is lost in slumbers deep;
So hush, my sweet, and close thine eyes,
  And let me lull thy soul to sleep.
Compose thy dimpled hands to rest,
  And like a little birdling lie
Secure within thy cozy nest
Upon my loving mother breast,
  And slumber to my lullaby,
  So hushaby—O hushaby.

The moon is singing to a star
  The little song I sing to you;
The father sun has strayed afar,
  As baby's sire is straying too.
And so the loving mother moon
  Sings to the little star on high;
And as she sings, her gentle tune
Is borne to me, and thus I croon
  For thee, my sweet, that lullaby
  Of hushaby—O hushaby.

There is a little one asleep
  That does not hear his mother's song;
But angel watchers—as I weep—
  Surround his grave the night-tide long.
And as I sing, my sweet, to you,
  Oh, would the lullaby I sing—
The same sweet lullaby he knew
While slumb'ring on this bosom too—
  Were borne to him on angel's wing!
  So hushaby—O hushaby.

1. After Reading Trollope's History of Florence
2. Fitte the Sixth
3. The Convalescent Gripster
4. The Two Coffins
5. Hugo's “Pool in the Forest”

Madison Cawein A Lullaby ("In her wimple of wind and her slippers of sleep")

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