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.