From groves of spice, 
  O'er field or rice,
Athwart the lotus stream,
  I bring for you, 
  Aglint with dew,
A little lovely dream.

  Sweet, shut your eyes. 
  The wild fire-flies
Dance through the fairy neem;
  From poppy-bole
  For you I stole
A little lovely dream.

  Dear eyes, good-night,
  In golden light
The stars around you gleam;
  On you I press,
  With soft caress,
A little lovely dream.