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Slumber Song for Sunalini
In a Bengalee metre
Where the golden, glowing
Champak-buds are blowing,
By the swiftly-flowing streams,
Now, when day is dying,
There are fairies flying
Scattering a cloud of dreams.
Slumber-spirits winging
Thro' the forest singing,
Flutter hither bringing soon,
Baby-visions sheeny
For my Sunalini . . .
Hush thee, O my pretty moon!
Sweet, the saints shall bless thee . . .
Hush, mine arms caress thee,
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