Cradle Song for Summer

Sleep, my childie, sleep
r the hush of evening deep,
Gone the last long-lingering beam
P'rom 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.

Sleep, my childie, sleep ;
The skimming moth may sip
Our bower's honeysuckle bloom
That lavish breathes a rare perfume,
I hear the velvet hornet boom :
Sleep, my childie, sleep.

Sleep, my childie, sleep;
The shepherd counts his sheep,
I hear the cattle browse and chew,
Afield the click of ball that flew
Bat-smitten and the boy's halloo :
Sleep, my childie, sleep.

Sleep, my childie, sleep ;
Where meadow grass is deep.
Nor yet lies heaped the fragrant hay,
The crake is calling, or away
Where the corn mellows every day :
Sleep, my childie, sleep.

Sleep, my childie, sleep ;
Yon primrose skies must keep
Some chime of faint and faery bells
Whose ebb and flow of tidal swells
Or close or open aerial cells :
Sleep, my childie, sleep.

Sleep, my childie, sleep ;
The summer breath can steep
All sights and sounds in hallowed rest ;
Beneath, far setting toward the West,
Rich seas of pasture swoon to mist :
Sleep, my childie, sleep.

Sleep, my childie, sleep ;
Rare doth the swallow sweep
Now lilied pools for dragon-flies,
Nor orange mouths that gape supplies
While the dam greets with twittering cries :
Sleep, my childie, sleep.

Sleep, my childie, sleep;
Still soft the martin-cheep
Below yon eaves from rustic nest
With moss and bents and feathers prest
Lined warm for many a downy breast
Sleep, my childie, sleep.

XII
Sleep, my childie, sleep ;
Four callow fledglings peep
No more, but nestle to the wing,
Whose darkness ne'er to them can bring
Doubt of the parent's sheltering :
Sleep, my childie, sleep.

XIII
Sleep, my childie, sleep ;
Our earthly clouds must weep
Their rain upon thy stainless brow ;
I only pray my child may know
Her Father's wing those shadows throw :
Then ever rest and sleep !