LULLABY, little Love,
Slumber sweetly, slumber deep,
Though your cradle will not move,
I shall lull you, Child, to sleep.

Do you hear the muffled storm
Sorrowing in brotherhood?
Do you hear the hungry worm
Ticking in the coffin wood?

Slumber, Child, as I sing.
Nought is lacking; take your ease.
Hark! your rattle's merry ring
From the spire between the trees !

Now the nightingale for us
Hovers nearer, great with song;
You have lulled me often thus,
Now I lull you, slumber long.

If your heart be not of flint,
Mother, see what I can do !
From this little elder splint
I shall make a flute for you.

I will play for your delight
With a soft, complaining tone,
Like a wandering voice at night
Through wet winter branches blown.

Ah, but I must leave you here,
For your arms are cold as snow,
And I have no cottage near,
Warm and bright, where I can go.

Lullaby, then, little Love,
Slumber sweetly, slumber deep,
Though your cradle will not move,
I shall lull you, Child, to sleep.