For, rocking softly to and fro,
With fair, fine forehead bending low,
A mother lulls to slumber blest
Her first-born babe upon her breast.
A lovelier sight, through leafy screen,
By faun or fairy ne’er was seen;
And never more melodious word
The sylvan silence ever stirred.
Not hers to see the grace she wears,—
Nor hers to dream the peace she bears,