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.