And here’s a little baby, who would like to stay awake,
For happy lights are riding, in the boats upon the lake;
And here a baby cuddles,—and here a baby cries,—
And Whisper finds the newest one, and shuts her tiny eyes.
And do the mothers see her? O never; not at all;
The kitten doesn’t see her, nor the clock upon the wall;
But all the nodding babies, who lie, or walk, or creep;
Know, “Whisper’s come to see us;” and then—they’re—off—to—sleep.
FIRE-FLIES
Over the meadow they’re flying low,
Bright little runaway stars,
And I sit by the window and watch them glow
Over the pasture bars;
They’re almost afraid to burn very bright
For fear they’ll be hurried back tonight;
So they shine out a minute,—then hide their light,
Wise little runaway stars!
Far up above them the other stars
(Poor little patient things!)
Sit in the sky and study the clouds
Folding their sad little wings;
With the stern moon to watch them they sit and sigh:
“Won’t lessons be over, by and by?
We want to go down to the earth and fly!”
Runaway, runaway stars!
