  BABY, you stand by a gate that leads Into a land of dreams; There’s a drowsy watchman here who heeds Never the straggling gleams Of light that stray from the far-off sun— Always for him it’s twilight begun— And we stand by the gate, And watch and wait, And watch—and wait! Little one, hear what the stream sings of, Here in this quiet land; It sings of the joy of mother love— Sings to birds in the sand— To the strange, tall birds with dreamy eyes, That look at you, dear, in mute surprise, While we stand by the gate, And watch and wait, And watch—and wait! If you open the gate, no one will know; The guard will never guess. You must open it gently, slowly—so! No one has heard, unless Those dreamful birds, or the dreamland sheep, Heard you stealing through their land of sleep While I stood by the gate, To watch and wait, And watch—and wait! Oh, strange are the birds and the sheep that dwell Here in the land of dreams! But you must not see, and you must not tell, However strange it seems, Or they’ll never let you in again, And it would not please you, baby, then, Just to stand by the gate, And watch, and wait, And watch—and wait! |
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