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Pipes O’Pan at Zekesbury

by James Whitcomb Riley

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Lullaby

The maple strews the embers of its leaves
  O’er the laggard swallows nestled ’neath the eaves;
And the moody cricket falters in his cry—Baby-bye!—
And the lid of night is falling o’er the sky—Baby-bye!—
  The lid of night is falling o’er the sky!

The rose is lying pallid, and the cup
Of the frosted calla-lily folded up;
And the breezes through the garden sob and sigh—Baby-bye!—
O’er the sleeping blooms of summer where they lie—Baby-bye!—
  O’er the sleeping blooms of summer where they lie!

Yet, Baby—O my Baby, for your sake
This heart of mine is ever wide awake,
And my love may never droop a drowsy eye—Baby-bye!—
Till your own are wet above me when I die—Baby-bye!—
  Till your own are wet above me when I die.

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