Cradle Song

 FROM groves of spice, 
O'er fields of rice, 
Athwart the lotus-stream, 
I bring for you, 
Aglint with dew 
A little lovely dream.
 


Sweet, shut your eyes, 
The wild fire-fiies 
Dance through the fairy neem; 
From the poppy-bole 
For you I stole 
A little lovely dream.



Dear eyes, good-night, 
In golden light 
The stars around you gleam; 
On you I press 
With soft caress 
A little lovely dream.

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