Page:Field Poems of Childhood.djvu/115



AIR is the castle up on the hill— Hushaby, sweet my own! The night is fair, and the waves are still, And the wind is singing to you and to me In this lowly home beside the sea— Hushaby, sweet my own!

On yonder hill is store of wealth— Hushaby, sweet my own! And revellers drink to a little one's health; But you and I bide night and day For the other love that has sailed away— Hushaby, sweet my own!

See not, dear eyes, the forms that creep Ghostlike, O my own! Out of the mists of the murmuring deep; Oh, see them not and make no cry Till the angels of death have passed us by— Hushaby, sweet my own!