Page:Field Poems of Childhood.djvu/29



HE mill goes toiling slowly around

With steady and solemn creak,

And my little one hears in the kindly sound

The voice of the old mill speak.

While round and round those big white wings

Grimly and ghostlike creep,

My little one hears that the old mill sings:

"Sleep, little tulip, sleep!"

The sails are reefed and the nets are drawn,

And, over his pot of beer,

The fisher, against the morrow's dawn,

Lustily maketh cheer;

He mocks at the winds that caper along

From the far-off clamorous deep—

But we—we love their lullaby song

Of "Sleep, little tulip, sleep!"

Old dog Fritz in slumber sound

Groans of the stony mart—

To-morrow how proudly he'll trot you round,

Hitched to our new milk-cart!