LULLABY
Lullaby...mother's lullaby...
Do come cradle cries;
Late mother beyond skies,
Sings no more gentle songs.
What that meadow, gives you bed,
For the nights of lonesome breath?
Who the god that serves you through,
All the winter's chilly morns?
Now the wings of wind you be,
Wave the love at orphan-sighs.
Bid true farewell to all likes,
To be the rhythmic notes of joy.
Rock his cradle as she did,
Shed white feathers mist may come.
Move not away, he may wake,
To see the mother not in sight!