Sleep, my little papoose, sleep on, Nor hark to the marsh-bird's cry; The sighing breeze in the forest trees Shall be thy lullaby. Thy father tracketh the wounded bear, The moose to its covert flies; But my little papoose can have no care, With sleep in his coal-black eyes. So, sleep, my little papoose, sleep on, Nor hark to the marsh-bird's cry; The sighing breeze in the forest trees Shall be thy lullaby. Sleep, my little papoose, sleep on, Sleep sound on the wigwam floor; Soon thy shaft shall find the mountain hind, And thy knife be dipped in war. The Big Chief camps on the coyote's trail, There's blood in the western sky; But my little papoose hears not the wail, With sleep in his coal-black eye. So, sleep, my little papoose, sleep on, Nor hark to the bittern's cry, Lest the somber rhymes in the sachem pines Should be thy lullaby. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GARDEN FANCIES: 1. THE FLOWER'S NAME by ROBERT BROWNING THE CHINESE NIGHTINGALE; A SONG IN CHINESE TAPESTRIES by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY THE THREAD OF LIFE by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 78 by ALFRED TENNYSON FAREWELL, UNKIST by THOMAS WYATT A NEW PILGRIMAGE: 7 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |