Hushaby! Hushaby! Sheep-bells are tinkling. Long lie the shadows on meadow and fold, Brooks babble drowsily, while crocus-blossoms Nod o'er the ripples their night-caps of gold. Baby, now hushaby! List to my singing, Songs that thy grandmother learnt from the moon, Sang to thy mother thus wakeful before thee, Sleep in thy turn, baby! sleep while I croon! Hushaby! Hushaby! Flickering camp-fires Redden the dewdrops on meadow and fold; White moths brush lightly thy cheek as they hover, Brushing my cheek are thy lashes of gold. Baby, now hushaby! Sleep to my singing! Cold lie the sheep underneath the white moon, Warmly my little bird nestles beside me Hushaby! lullaby! Sleep while I croon. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LIVING TEMPLE by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES THE OLD CHURCHYARD OF BONCHURCH by PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON A WOMAN'S ANSWER by ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER OUR BROTHER'S KEEPER by W. H. ANDERSON RETIREMENT: AN ODE by JAMES BEATTIE A NEW PILGRIMAGE: 24 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT TAKE YOUR CHOICE: ACCORDING TO FRANKLIN P. ADAMS by BERTON BRALEY |