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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. 

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