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-flies

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.