All by the sides of the wide wild river Surging sad through the sodden land, There be the black reeds washing together-- Washing together in rain and sand; Going, blowing, flowing, together-- Rough are the winds, and the tide runs high-- Hush, little babe, in thy silken cradle-- Lull lull, lull lull, lull lullaby! Father is riding home, little baby, Riding home through the wind and rain; Flinty hoofs on the flag stems beating Thrum like a flail on the golden grain. All in the wild, wet reeds of the lowlands, Dashed and plashed with the freezing foam, There be the blood-red wings of the starlings, Shining to light and lead him home. Spurring hard o'er the grass-gray ridges-- Slacking rein in the low, wet land, Where be the black reeds washing together-- Washing together in rain and sand. Down of the yellow-throated creeper-- Plumes of the woodcock, green and black-- Boughs of salix, and combs of honey-- These be the gifts he is bearing back. Yester morning four sweet ground-doves Sung so gay to their nest in the wall-- Oh, by the moaning, and oh, by the droning, The wild, wild water is over them all! Come, O morning, come with thy roses, Flame like a burning bush in the sky-- Hush, little babe, in thy silken cradle-- Lull lull, lull lull, lull lullaby! |