The flowers have gone to bed, The moon's begun to shine. Each nods its little head Upon its stem so fine. The branches rustle; and they seem To sigh as in a dream, Sleepy, sleepy, sleepy, Sleep, my baby, sleep. The birds that sang so sweetly By day, have gone to rest, And each is tucked up neatly All in its little nest; The cottage in the garden here Is still awake, I fear. Sleepy, sleepy, sleepy, Sleep, my baby, mine. The Sandman will be coming And poking in his head, To look for naughty children That haven't gone to bed And if he takes them by surprise, The sand flies in their eyes! Sleepy, sleepy, sleepy, Sleep, my baby, sleep. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MODERN PARAPHRASE OF SHAKESPEARE'S SONNET 29 by GEORGE SANTAYANA THE ECHOING GREEN, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE AS KINGFISHERS CATCH FIRE by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS THE CITY MOUSE AND THE COUNTRY [OR, GARDEN] MOUSE by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI NORTH-WEST PASSAGE: 2. SHADOW MARCH by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON THE FOUNDERS OF OHIO by WILLIAM HENRY VENABLE AT THE FUNERAL OF A MINOR POET by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |