Emily Pauline Johnson (1861–1913)

LITTLE brown baby-bird, lapped in your nest,

Wrapped in your nest,

Strapped in your nest,

Your straight little cradle-board rocks you to rest;

Its hands are your nest,

Its bands are your nest;

It swings from the down-bending branch of the oak;

You watch the camp flame, arid the curling grey smoke;

But, oh, for your pretty black eyes sleep is best,—

Little brown baby of mine, go to rest.

Little brown baby-bird swinging to sleep,

Winging to sleep,

Singing to sleep,

Your wonder-black eyes that so wide open keep,

Shielding their sleep,

Unyielding to sleep,

The heron is homing, the plover is still,

The night-owl calls from his haunt on the hill,

Afar the fox barks, afar the stars peep,—

Little brown baby of mine, go to sleep.