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. |