  Night in an oriole’s hanging nest Is rocking a basket world to sleep. The wind blows soft And the wind blows far, Star, creep, star! Pack me tight in my basket world, Tread me and turn me with feet of your love! O, Mother Bird, fledge me with feather and rest! O, Mother Bird, brood me with flame of your breast! Down in the marshes the little fish gleam, Down in the marshes the little fish stir Rushes in sleep, Rushes that keep Wrinkling the light of a drowsy star. Here in my basket world hung on the wind Over me rustles an ebony bough, Over me hovers a silvery beak; And clear and soft And near and far Lustre of loving eyes rocked in this nest, Eyes that are gentle, Eyes that are meek. O, Mother Bird, fledge me with feather and rest! O, Mother Bird, brood me with flame of your breast! |
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