Sleep on, baby on the floor,
Tired of all thy playing -- 
Sleep with smile the sweeter for
That you dropped away in;
On your curls' fair roundness stand
Golden lights serenely;
One cheek, pushed out by the hand,
Folds the dimple inly -- 
Little head and little foot
Heavy laid for pleasure;
Underneath the lids half-shut
Plants the shining azure;
Open-souled in noonday sun,
So, you lie and slumber;
Nothing evil having done,
Nothing can encumber.

I, who cannot sleep as well,
Shall I sigh to view you?
Or sigh further to foretell
All that may undo you?
Nay, keep smiling, little child,
Ere the fate appeared!
I smile, too; for patience mild
Pleasure's token weareth.
Nay, keep sleeping before loss;
I shall sleep, though losing!
As by cradle, so by cross,
Sweet is the reposing.

And God knows, who sees us twain,
Child at childish leisure,
I am all as tired of pain
As you are of pleasure.
Very soon, too, by His grace
Gently wrapt around me,
I shall show as calm a face,
I shall sleep as soundly -- 
Differing in this, that you
Clasp your playthings sleeping,
While my hand must drop the few
Given to my keeping -- 

Differing in this, that I,
Sleeping, must be colder,
And in waking presently,
Brighter to beholder --
Differing in this beside,
(Sleeper, have you heard me?
Do you move, and open wide
Your great eyes toward me?)
That while I you draw withal
From this slumber solely,
Me, from mine, an angel shall,
Trumpet-tongued and holy!