Lullaby
DAY has fled to the west afar,
Where no shadows or sorrows are;
O'er earth's radiant western rim
God has gathered the day to him.
Hush! the river of night is here,
Flowing silently, cool and clear,
With its mystical thoughts that throng
And its silences deep as song.
Babe of my bosom, sleep;
Tender, sweet blossom, sleep!
Hearts may ache
While the long hours go creeping;
Hearts may break
While my baby is sleeping;
Never wake,
Though thy mother is weeping;
Babe of my bosom, sleep!
Sleep! the silence is all around,
Save the sighings that are not sound,
Where the wind in the branches weaves
Mystic melodies through the leaves;
Or the far-away murmurings
Like the stir of an angel's wings.
Only night is about us now—
Child, the earth is as tired as thou.
Babe of my bosom, sleep;
Tender, sweet blossom, sleep!
Hearts may ache
While the long hours go creeping,
Hearts may break
While my baby is sleeping:
Never wake.
Though thy mother is weeping;
Babe of my bosom, sleep!
poem by Arthur Henry Adams
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Related quotes
A Rocking Hymn
Sweet baby, sleep! what ails my dear,
What ails my darling thus to cry?
Be still, my child, and lend thine ear
To hear me sing thy lullaby.
My pretty lamb, forbear to weep;
Be still, my dear; sweet baby, sleep.
Thou blessed soul, what canst thou fear?
What thing to thee can mischief do?
Thy God is now thy father dear,
His holy Spouse, thy mother too.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
Though thy conception was in sin,
A sacred bathing thou hast had;
And, though thy birth unclean hath been,
A blameless babe thou now art made.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my dear; sweet baby, sleep,
While thus thy lullaby I sing,
For thee great blessings ripening be;
Thine eldest brother is a King,
And hath a kingdom bought for thee.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
Sweet baby, sleep and nothing fear,
For whosoever thee offends,
By thy protector threat'ned are,
And God and angels are thy friends.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
When God with us was dwelling here,
In little babes he took delight;
Such innocents as thou, my dear,
Are ever precious in His sight.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
A little infant once was He,
And, strength in weakness, then was laid
Upon His virgin-mother's knee,
That power to thee might be conveyed.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
In this, thy frailty and thy need,
He friends and helpers doth prepare,
Which thee shall cherish, clothe and feed;
For of thy weal they tender are.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
The King of kings, when he was born,
Had not so much for outward ease;
By Him such dressings were not worn,
Nor such like swaddling-clothes as these.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
Within a manger lodged thy Lord
Where oxen lay and asses fed;
Warm rooms we do to thee afford,
An easy cradle or a bed.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
The wants that He did then sustain
Have purchased wealth, my babe, for thee;
And by His torments and His pain
Thy rest and ease securèd be.
My baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
Thou hast (yet more) to perfect this,
A promise and an earnest got
Of gaining everlasting bliss,
Though thou, my babe, perceiv'st it not;
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
poem by George Wither
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Mother's Loss
If I could clasp my little babe
Upon my breast to-night,
I would not mind the blowing wind
That shrieketh in affright.
Oh, my lost babe! my little babe,
My babe with dreamful eyes;
Thy bed is cold; and night wind bold
Shrieks woeful lullabies.
My breast is softer than the sod;
This room, with lighter hearth,
Is better place for thy sweet face
Than frozen mother eatrth.
Oh, my babe! oh, my lost babe!
Oh, babe with waxen hands,
I want thee so, I need thee so -
Come from thy mystic lands!
No love that, like a mother's fills
Each corner of the heart;
No loss like hers, that rends, and chills,
And tears the soul apart.
Oh, babe - my babe, my helpless babe!
I miss thy little form.
Would I might creep where thou dost sleep,
And clasp thee through the storm.
I hold thy pillow to my breast,
To bring a vague relief;
I sing the songs that soothed thy rest -
Ah me! no cheating grief.
My breathing babe! my sobbing babe!
I miss thy plaintive moan,
I cannot hear - thou art not near -
My little one, my own.
Thy father sleeps. He mourns thy loss,
But little fathers know
The pain that makes a mother toss
Through sleepless nights of woe.
My clinging babe! my nursing babe!
What knows thy father - man -
How my breasts miss thy lips' soft kiss -
None but a mother can.
Worn out, I sleep; I wake - I weep -
I sleep - hush, hush, my dear;
Sweet lamb, fear not - Oh, God! I thought -
I thought my babe was here.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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A Christmas Lullabay
A Christmas Lullaby
Sleep, baby, sleep! The Mother
sings:
Heaven's angels kneel and fold
their wings.
Sleep, baby, sleep!
With swathes of scented hay Thy
bed
By Mary's hand at eve was
spread.
Sleep, baby, sleep!
At midnight came the shepherds,
they
Whom seraphs wakened by the
way.
Sleep, baby, sleep!
And three kings from the East
afar,
Ere dawn came, guided by the
star.
Sleep, baby, sleep!
They brought Thee gifts of gold
and gems,
Pure orient pearls, rich diadems.
Sleep, baby, sleep!
Thou who liest slumbering there,
Art King of Kings, earth, ocean,
air.
Sleep, baby, sleep!
Sleep, baby, sleep! The shepherds
sing:
Through heaven, through earth,
hosannas ring.
Sleep, baby, sleep!
poem by Akingbehin Daniel Murphy
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Sleep, Sleep
Sleep, sleep lazy fool
You’ve fought to long
And now you’re free to tool
Don’t wake blind maiden
Sleep, sleep small child
There are terrors to come
You won’t sleep forever
Cause you’ll never be done
Sleep, sleep little blossom
Because that’s all you can do
Sleep, the sleep of dreamers
And wake again a new
poem by Eric Andrew James
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A Cradle Song
Sweet dreams, form a shade
O’er my lovely infant’s head;
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams
By happy, silent, moony beams.
Sweet Sleep, with soft down
Weave thy brows an infant crown.
Sweet Sleep, Angel mild,
Hover o’er my happy child.
Sweet smiles, in the night
Hover over my delight;
Sweet smiles, mother’s smiles,
All the livelong night beguiles.
Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thy eyes.
Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,
All the dovelike moans beguiles.
Sleep, sleep, happy child,
All creation slept and smil'd;
Sleep, sleep, happy sleep,
While o’er thee thy mother weep.
Sweet babe, in thy face
Holy image I can trace.
Sweet babe, once like thee,
Thy Maker lay and wept for me,
Wept for me, for thee, for all,
When He was an infant small.
Thou His image ever see,
Heavenly face that smiles on thee
Smiles on thee, on me, on all;
Who became an infant small.
Infant smiles are His own smiles;
Heaven and earth to peace beguiles.
poem by William Blake from Songs of Innocence (1789)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Song
Sweet dreams, form a shade
O'er my lovely infant's head!
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams
By happy, silent, moony beams!
Sweet Sleep, with soft down
Weave thy brows an infant crown
Sweet Sleep, angel mild,
Hover o'er my happy child!
Sweet smiles, in the night
Hover over my delight!
Sweet smiles, mother's smile,
All the livelong night beguile.
Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thine eyes!
Sweet moan, sweeter smile,
All the dovelike moans beguile.
Sleep, sleep, happy child!
All creation slept and smiled.
Sleep, sleep, happy sleep,
While o'er thee doth mother weep.
Sweet babe, in thy face
Holy image I can trace;
Sweet babe, once like thee
Thy Maker lay, and wept for me:
Wept for me, for thee, for all,
When He was an infant small.
Thou His image ever see,
Heavenly face that smiles on thee!
Smiles on thee, on me, on all,
Who became an infant small;
Infant smiles are his own smiles;
Heaven and earth to peace beguiles.
poem by William Blake
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The Little Girl Lost
In futurity
I prophesy
That the earth from sleep
(Grave the sentence deep)
Shall arise, and seek
For her Maker meek;
And the desert wild
Become a garden mild.
In the southern clime,
Where the summer’s prime
Never fades away,
Lovely Lyca lay.
Seven summers old
Lovely Lyca told.
She had wandered long,
Hearing wild birds’ song.
‘Sweet sleep, come to me,
Underneath this tree;
Do father, mother, weep?
Where can Lyca sleep?
‘Lost in desert wild
Is your little child.
How can Lyca sleep
If her mother weep?
‘If her heart does ache,
Then let Lyca wake;
If my mother sleep,
Lyca shall not weep.
‘Frowning, frowning night,
O’er this desert bright
Let thy moon arise,
While I close my eyes.’
Sleeping Lyca lay,
While the beasts of prey,
Come from caverns deep,
Viewed the maid asleep.
The kingly lion stood,
And the virgin viewed:
Then he gambolled round
O’er the hallowed ground.
Leopards, tigers, play
Round her as she lay;
While the lion old
Bowed his mane of gold,
And her bosom lick,
And upon her neck,
From his eyes of flame,
Ruby tears there came;
While the lioness
Loosed her slender dress,
And naked they conveyed
To caves the sleeping maid.
poem by William Blake from Songs of Experience (1794)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Mother's Lullaby
Oh, my child, fret no more
Close your eyes and go to sleep.
Here I am by your side
Singing lullabies, sweet and cherished.
All sounds are stilled for you to sleep in quiet
All lights out that no beam hurt your eyes
All storms calmed that to a blissful rest you glide
No horrifying dreams to rob you of your snooze.
Sleep, sleep rocking in the sea of joy
Sleep, sleep close to your mother's throbbing heart
Sleep, sleep listening to this gentle lay I tune
Sleep, sleep to wake, to the miracle of life.
Fear not, around you much love abounds
And legions of angels, to guard your sleep.
Thy eyes shall hither new beauties behold
And many a marvel, for you to rejoice.
It's for you the stars twinkle and gleam
It's for you the breeze hums sweet and blest
It's for you the buds open at the fall of gloom
It's for you the glow worms scatter rays of gold.
It's for you, the seasons come and go
It's for you, the fruits ripen and fall
It's for you, the raindrops plop n' break
It's for you, God paints the sky in myriad hues.
Now hush my baby, sleep my child
Lying below this smiling silver moon
Good night darling, drift away
To the land of dreams, where fairies live.
Conceived within before you were born
Called you names and caressed you soft
Cuddled you tight and kept you safe
In the secret chamber of my maiden heart.
I pledge your soul to God our Lord
May He watch you through the gloom!
I consign my babe to His sacred trust
And bid you away to dream's Never never land
Sleep, sleep rocking in the sea of joy
Sleep, sleep close to your mother's throbbing heart
Sleep, sleep listening to this gentle lay I tune
Sleep, sleep to wake, to the miracle of life.
poem by Valsa George
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I Cry Myself To Sleep At Night
(r.j. lange/ c. joiner/ a. mitman)
Producer for bonnie: gene capel
I think you like it a lot
I think you like what you see
I know you like what you got, babe
Thats what you got with me
*this heart, these hands
Are made to understand
This girl and that man
If we dont make it no one can
Oh baby
Oh I cry myself to sleep at night
Im so in love
cause I cry myself to sleep at night
Im all shook up
cause I cry myself to sleep at night
This woman is in love
I think you like a little solo
A little one on one
A little old fashioned feel good
Make me emotionally numb
(* repeat)
I cry myself to sleep at night
Im so in love
I cry myself to sleep at night
Im all shook up
cause I cry myself to sleep at night
This woman is in love
(* repeat)
I cry myself to sleep at night
Im so in love
I cry myself to sleep at night
Im all shook up
I cry myself to sleep at night
cause I cry myself to sleep at night
Im so in love
I cry myself to sleep at night
Im all shook up
And I cry myself to sleep at night
Im so in love
I cry myself to sleep at night...
song performed by by Bonnie Tyler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fragment 01
WHEN, upon the well-wrought chest,
Fiercely heat the howling wind,
And the oceans heaving breast
Filled with terror DanaCs mind ;
All in tears, her arm she throws
Over Perseus, as he lay
0, my babe, she said, what woes
On thy mothers bosom weigh!
Thou dost sleep with careless breast,
Slumbering in this dreary home,
Thou dost sweetly take thy rest,
In the darkness and the gloom.
In thy little mantle there,
Passing wave thou dost not mind,
Dashing oer thy clustering hair,
Nor fhe voices of the wind.
Yet if thou, my beauteous one!
Felt the weight of this deep woe,
Not unconscious would my son
Hear his mothers sorrows now.
Yet sleep on, my babe, I pray,
Sleep thou too, tumultuous deep
And th unmeasured cares that stay
On my heart,let them too sleep!
Father Jove! I ask of thee,
Vain their evil counsels make!
And, though bold the prayer may be,
Right my wrongs, for Perseus sake.
Cradle Song
Sleep, sleep, beauty bright,
Dreaming in the joys of night;
Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit and weep.
Sweet babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
Little pretty infant wiles.
As thy softest limbs I feel
Smiles as of the morning steal
O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast
Where thy little heart doth rest.
O the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep!
When thy little heart doth wake,
Then the dreadful night shall break.
poem by William Blake
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A Fisherman's Baby
Oh hush, little baby, thy papa's at sea;
The big billows rock him as mamma rocks thee.
He hastes to his dear ones o'er billows of foam;
Then sleep, little darling, till papa comes home.
Sleep, little baby; hush, little baby;
Papa is coming, no longer to roam.
The shells and the pebbles, all day tossed about,
Are lulled into sleep by the tide ebbing out.
The tired shore slumbers, stretched out in the sand,
While the waves hurry off at mid-ocean's command.
Then hush, little darling; sleep, little darling;
Sleep, baby, rocked by thy mother's own hand.
The winds that have rollicked all day in the west
Are hushed into sleep on the calm evening's breast.
The boats that were out with the wild sea at play
Are now rocked to sleep in the arms of the bay.
Then rest, little baby; sleep, little baby;
Papa will come at the break of the day.
Sleep, little darling; too soon thou wilt be
A man like thy father, to sail o'er the sea.
Then sleep will not come at thy bidding or prayer,
For thou wilt be harassed by danger and care.
Then sleep, little darling; rest, little baby;
Rest whilst thou may, dear, and sleep whilst thou dare.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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A Parting II
I WILL not wake you, dear; no tears shall creep
To chill the still bed where you lie asleep;
No cry, no word, shall break the sanctity
Of the great silence where God lets you lie.
I will not tease your grave with flower or stone;
You are tired, my heart; you shall be left alone.
And even the kisses that my lips must lay
Upon the mould of the triumphant clay
Shall be so soft--like those a mother lays
Upon her sleeping baby's little face--
You will not feel my kisses, will not hear;
You are tired: sleep on, I will not wake you, dear!
But when the good day comes, you will hear me cry,
'Ah, make a little place where I can lie!'
And half awakened, you will feel me creep
Into the folds of your familiar sleep,
And draw them round us, with a tender moan,
'How could you let me sleep so long alone?'
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Sleep No Man Desires
There is a sleep no man desires
There is something about that sleep
That sends fear down the hearts of men
That world unknown yet revered by fear
That surrounds a man when he goes to sleep
It is the sleep of the tired women
It is the sleep of the defeated elands
It is the sleep that makes the hyenas laugh
It is the sleep that feeds the vultures
It is the sleep that no man loves
But is the eventual sleep for all that breaths
It is the sleep of paradise
A paradise so desired for good deeds on earth
Yet it is the sleep that hounds the aged and the poor
A sleep that embraces the dying
A sleep that knows no class
It is the silent sleep on angels' chariots
Take a pillow and courage to slip into it
Courage, be brave and face that sleep
That sleep that frightens the mighty
That sleep that is wild on eart
That sleep that has no path
That is hated and more than loathed
A sleep that captured great men of history
It is the sleep of the GONE.
poem by Major Elazia
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Sleep! Sleep! Beauty Bright
Sleep! sleep! beauty bright,
Dreaming o'er the joys of night;
Sleep! sleep! in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit and weep.
Sweet Babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
Little pretty infant wiles.
As thy softest limbs I feel,
Smiles as of the morning steal
O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast
Where thy little heart does rest.
O! the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep.
When thy little heart does wake
Then the dreadful lightnings break,
From thy cheek and from thy eye,
O'er the youthful harvests nigh.
Infant wiles and infant smiles
Heaven and Earth of peace beguiles.
poem by William Blake
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A cradle song
Sleep Sleep beauty bright
Dreaming oer the joys of night
Sleep Sleep: in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit & weep
Sweet Babe in thy face
Soft desires I can trace
Secret joys & secret smiles
Little pretty infant wiles.
As thy softest limbs I feel
Smiles as of the morning steal
Oer thy cheek & oer thy breast
Where thy little heart does rest
O the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep
When thy little heart does wake
Then the dreadful lightnings break
From thy cheek & from thy eye
Oer the youthful harvests nigh
Infant wiles & infant smiles
Heaven & Earth of peace beguiles
poem by William Blake from Songs and Ballads (1793)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Child Asleep. (From The French)
Sweet babe! true portrait of thy father's face,
Sleep on the bosom that thy lips have pressed!
Sleep, little one; and closely, gently place
Thy drowsy eyelid on thy mother's breast.
Upon that tender eye, my little friend,
Soft sleep shall come, that cometh not to me!
I watch to see thee, nourish thee, defend;
'Tis sweet to watch for thee, alone for thee!
His arms fall down; sleep sits upon his brow;
His eye is closed; he sleeps, nor dreams of harm.
Wore not his cheek the apple's ruddy glow,
Would you not say he slept on Death's cold arm?
Awake, my boy! I tremble with affright!
Awake, and chase this fatal thought! Unclose
Thine eye but for one moment on the light!
Even at the price of thine, give me repose!
Sweet error! he but slept! -- I breathe again;
Come, gentle dreams, the hour of sleep beguile!
Oh, when shall he, for whom I sigh in vain,
Beside me watch to see thy waking smile?
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Dedicated to ppl who dont sleep
Sleep, sleep, sleep
It’s magnificent and nice,
With dreams beyond wonder,
Sleep! sleep! sleep!
Sleep, sleep, sleep
Eyes tightly closed,
A little smile on you r cheeks,
Feeling the ambiance
Of the pure and precious sleep,
Sleep! sleep! sleep!
Sleep, sleep, sleep
Forgetting insane things of the mixed world outside
Relax my dear, feel the gentle breeze,
Do not worry about tomorrow, do not weep,
Wake up fresh in the morning with a recuperate mind,
Fresh and blessed with a wonderful sleep,
SLEEP, SLEEP, SLEEP!
poem by Tejaswini Iyer
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A Cradle Song
Sleep, Sleep, beauty bright,
Dreaming o'er the joys of night;
Sleep, Sleep; in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit & weep.
Sweet Babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
Little pretty infant wiles.
As thy softest limbs I feel,
Smiles as of the morning steal
O’er thy cheek & o’er thy breast
Where thy little heart doth rest.
O, the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep.
When thy little heart doth wake,
Then the dreadful lightnings break.
From thy cheek & from thy eye
O'er the youthful harvests nigh
Infant wiles & infant smiles
Heaven & Earth of peace beguiles.
poem by William Blake (1794)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Translations from Goethe
I
Over every hill
All is still;
In no leaf of any tree
Can you see
The motion of a breath.
Every bird has ceased its song,
Wait; and thou too, ere long,
Shall be quiet in death.
II
Who ne’er his bread with tears hath ate,
Who never through the sad night hours
Weeping upon his bed hath sate,
He knows not you, you heavenly powers.
Forth into life you bid us go,
And into guilt you let us fall,
Then leave us to endure the woe
It brings unfailingly to all.
III
You complain of the woman for roving from one to another:
Where is the constant man whom she is trying to find?
IV
Slumber and Sleep, two brothers appointed to serve the immortals,
By Prometheus were brought hither to comfort mankind;
But what in heaven was light, to human creatures was heavy:
Slumber became our Sleep, Sleep unto mortals was Death.
V
Oh, the beautiful child! and oh, the most happy mother!
She in her infant blessed, and in its mother the babe
What sweet longing within me this picture might not occasion,
Were I not, Joseph, like you, calmly condemned to standby!
VI
Diogenes by his tub, contenting himself with the sunshine,
And Calanus with joy mounting his funeral pyre:
Great examples were these for the eager approving of Philip,
But for the Conqueror of Earth were, as the earth was, too small.
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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