Rock-a-bye
“Rock-a-bye, babies, upon the tree-top,”
To her young the mother-bird sings,
“When the wind’s still, the rocking will stop,
And then you may all use your wings.”
“Rock-a-bye, babies, under the eaves,”
The swallow croons to her brood,
“Here you are safer, my children, from thieves
Than if I had built in the wood.”
“Rock-a-bye, babies, the river runs deep,”
The reed-bird trills to her flock,
“The river stirs only to sing you to sleep,
The wind your green cradle to rock!”