Songs of Womanhood. Alma-Tadema Laurence

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      Baby moon, 'tis time for bed,

      Owlet leaves his nest now;

      Hide your little horned head

      In the twilight west now;

      When you're old and round and bright,

      You shall stay and shine all night.

      Baby girl is going too

      In her bed to creep now;

      She is little, just like you,

      Time it is to sleep now;

      When she's old and tired and wise,

      She'll be glad to close her eyes.

      Blow, wind, blow,

      The fields are white with snow —

      Sleeping daisies, deep and warm,

      Cannot hear the Winter storm.

      Freeze, air, freeze,

      The rime is on the trees —

      Sleeping buds within the bough,

      Dream of spring and cuckoos now.

      Turn, earth, turn,

      The flames of life do burn —

      Sleeping girl, my baby dove,

      Knows no world but mother's love.

      Hush, baby, hush,

      Sweet robin's in the bush —

      All the birdies lie so quiet,

      Won't my little dicky try it?

      Hush, baby, hush.

      Sleep, baby, sleep,

      The lammies love the sheep —

      Woolly babes all nestle cosy,

      Lie, my lambkin, warm and rosy,

      Sleep, baby, sleep.

      Dream, baby, dream,

      Our feet are in the stream —

      Stones below but stars above, child,

      Life is warm so long we love, child,

      Dream, baby, dream.

      Baby's rather ill to-night,

      Little face is long and white,

      Eyes are all too large and bright —

      What shall mother do now?

      Never leave him out of sight,

      Hold him warm and still and tight,

      Make him well with all her might,

      That's what she will do now.

      Wagtail – pied Wagtail —

      What tremor's in your breast?

      On nimble feet, when we draw near,

      You run about to hide your fear,

      As if to say: There's nothing here,

      I have no nest…

      Wagtail – pied Wagtail —

      We too their voices heard;

      Away then to the water-side,

      And fetch the food for which they cried;

      From us there is no need to hide,

      My dainty bird.

      The thrushes' nest has fallen

      From the ivy on the wall:

      The dear blue eggs are broken,

      All broken by the fall.

      But we heard a song at sundown

      That said: O tears are vain! —

      And babe and I ceased grieving:

      We think they will build again.

      Tiny mustn't frown

      When she tumbles down;

      If the wind should change – Ah me,

      What a face her face would be!

      Rub away the dirt,

      Say she wasn't hurt;

      What a world 'twould be – O my,

      If all who fell began to cry!

      Baby's got a new pelisse,

      Very soft and very neat —

      Like a lammy in her fleece

      She's all white from head to feet.

      Thirty lambs each gave a curl,

      Mother sewed them, stitch by stitch —

      All to clothe a baby-girl:

      Don't you think she's very rich?

      Whom does Miss belong to?

      Just to Mother, Mother only:

      That's whom Miss belongs to,

      – And Mother's never lonely.

      Whom's this little song to?

      Just to Baby, Baby only:

      That's whom little song's to,

      – And Baby's never lonely.

      Where do you come from, Mr. Jay? —

      'From the land of Play, from the land of Play.'

      And where can that be, Mr. Jay? —

      'Far away – far away.'

      Where do you come from, Mrs. Dove? —

      'From the land of Love, from the land of Love.'

      And how do you get there, Mrs. Dove? —

      'Look above – look above.'

      Where do you come from, Baby Miss? —

      'From the land of Bliss, from the land of Bliss.'

      And what is the way there, Baby Miss? —

      'Mother's kiss – mother's kiss.'