Cradle-Song

  From groves of spice,
  O’er fields of rice,
Athwart the lotus-stream,
  I bring for you,
  Aglint with dew,
A little lovely dream.

  Sweet, shut your eyes,
  The wild fire-flies
Dance through the fairy neem;
  From the poppy-hole
  For you I stole
A little lovely dream.

  Dear eyes, good-night,
  In golden light
The stars around you gleam;
  On you I press
  With soft caress
A little lovely dream.

Sarojini Naidu.