Lullaby.

The maple strews the embers of its leaves
    O'er the laggard swallows nestled 'neath the eaves;
And the moody cricket falters in his cry - Baby-bye! -
And the lid of night is falling o'er the sky - Baby-bye! -
    The lid of night is falling o'er the sky!

The rose is lying pallid, and the cup
Of the frosted calla-lily folded up;
And the breezes through the garden sob and sigh - Baby-bye! -
O'er the sleeping blooms of summer where they lie - Baby-bye! -
    O'er the sleeping blooms of summer where they lie!

Yet, Baby - O my Baby, for your sake
This heart of mine is ever wide awake,
And my love may never droop a drowsy eye - Baby-bye! -
Till your own are wet above me when I die - Baby-bye! -
    Till your own are wet above me when I die.

James Whitcomb Riley

James Whitcomb Riley was an American writer, poet, and best-selling author. He was known as the "Hoosier Poet" and the "Children's Poet" for his dialect works and children's poetry respectively. Over his career, Riley authored approximately 1,000 poems, including "Little Orphant Annie" and "The Raggedy Man". His influence extended into the 20th century, and his works continued to be celebrated for their nostalgic and rural themes.

James Whitcomb Riley

Good-By Er Howdy-Do

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

To The Quiet Observer

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

A Life Lesson

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

A Sudden Shower

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Lullaby

When the long day leans to the twilight,
    When the Evening star climbs to the moon,
With a heart that is silently breaking,
    I sit in the gloaming and croon.
I croon a low song for my darling,
    My wee one, my baby, my own;
Who, cradled in rosewood and velvet,
    Sleeps out in the churchyard alone.

Alone with no arms to enfold her,
    Alone with no pillowing breast,
Alone with no hand on her cradle,
    To rock her to soundlier rest.
But each day in the hush of the twilight,
    Is silenced my broken heart's cry;
And I sit where I sat with my darling,
    And sing her the old lullaby.

Oh! the dreams that come back to me mocking,
    The sorrow that makes the days long;
As I sit in the twilight there rocking,
    And singing...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Home At Night.

    When chirping crickets fainter cry,
    And pale stars blossom in the sky,
    And twilight's gloom has dimmed the bloom
    And blurred the butterfly:

    When locust-blossoms fleck the walk,
    And up the tiger-lily stalk
    The glow-worm crawls and clings and falls
    And glimmers down the garden-walls:

    When buzzing things, with double wings
    Of crisp and raspish flutterings,
    Go whizzing by so very nigh
    One thinks of fangs and stings: -

    O then, within, is stilled the din
    Of crib she rocks the baby in,
    And heart and gate and latch's weight
    Are lifted - and the lips of Kate.

James Whitcomb Riley

Lullaby.

Sleep, little baby, sleep, love, sleep!
    Evening is coming, and night is nigh;
Under the lattice the little birds cheep,
    All will be sleeping by and by.
            Sleep, little baby, sleep.

Sleep, little baby, sleep, love, sleep!
    Darkness is creeping along the sky;
Stars at the casement glimmer and peep,
    Slowly the moon comes sailing by.
            Sleep, little baby, sleep.

Sleep, little baby, sleep, love, sleep!
    Sleep till the dawning has dappled the sky;
Under the lattice the little birds cheep,
    All will be waking by and by.
            Sleep, little baby, sleep.

Horace Smith

In The Evening

I

In the evening of our days,
When the first far stars above
Glimmer dimmer, through the haze,
Than the dewy eyes of love,
Shall we mournfully revert
To the vanished morns and Mays
Of our youth, with hearts that hurt, -
In the evening of our days?


II

Shall the hand that holds your own
Till the twain are thrilled as now,
Be withheld, or colder grown?
Shall my kiss upon your brow
Falter from its high estate?
And, in all forgetful ways,
Shall we sit apart and wait -
In the evening of our days?


III

Nay, my wife - my life! - the gloom
Shall enfold us velvetwise,
And my smile shall be the groom
Of the gladness of your eyes:
Gently, gently as the dew
Mingles with the darkening maze,

James Whitcomb Riley

Lullaby Of The Iroquois

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, and 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, ...

Emily Pauline Johnson

To Annie

When the lids of dusk are falling
    O'er the dreamy eyes of day,
And the whippoorwills are calling,
    And the lesson laid away, -
May Mem'ry soft and tender
    As the prelude of the night,
Bend over you and render
    As tranquil a delight.

James Whitcomb Riley