If thou wilt shut thy drowsy eyes,

   My mulberry one, my golden sun!

The rose shall sing thee lullabies,

   My pretty cosset lambkin!

And thou shalt swing in an almond-tree,

With a flood of moonbeams rocking thee---...

Poet:

My harp is on the willow-tree,

Else would I sing, O love, to thee

   A song of long-ago---

Perchance the song that Miriam sung

Ere yet Judea's heart was wrung

   By centuries of woe.


I ate my crust...

Poet: