Lullaby of the Iroquois

Little born baby-bird, lapped in your nest,
      Wrapped in your nest,
      Strapped in your nest,
Your straight little cradle-board rocks you to rest;
      Its hands are your nest;
      Its bands are your nest;
It swings from the down-bending branch of the oak;
You watch the camp flame, and the curling grey smoke;
But, oh, for your pretty black eyes sleep is best,—
Little brown baby of mind, go to rest.

Little brown baby-bird swinging to sleep,
      Winging to sleep,
      Singing to sleep,
Your wonder-black eyes that so wide open keep,
      Shielding their sleep,
      Unyielding to sleep,
The heron is homing, the plover is still,
The night-owl calls from his haunt on the hill,
Afar the fox barks, afar the stars peep,—
Little brown baby of mine, go to sleep.