Lullaby, oh, lullaby!
In your face I sometimes see
shadowings of the man to be
Oh, bed of mine in my mother’s house
With sleep that was dreamy peace
…Till I am weaker than water,
Water that drips from the fountain
Through thy white tapering fingers.
Turn again unto my bosom
I would have it night forever!
I did not dream the song-thrush would rejoice,
And I but weep.
The eaglet soars toward the sun, and knows no fear
The window by Walter Grogan Sweet maid, fair maid, open the window See, here we wait, the morn and I Eager to greet maiden so sweet So shyly sweet, so …
Cruel children, crying babies
all grow up as geese and gabies.
Hated, as their age increases
by their nephews and their nieces.
Try as I like to find the way,
I never can get back by day.
Nor can remember plain and clear
the curious music that I hear.
To an isle in the water
With her would I go.