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Eugene Field - Nightfall in Dordrecht
Work rating: Low

The mill goes toiling slowly around	
  With steady and solemn creak,	
And my little one hears in the kindly sound	
  The voice of the old mill speak.	
While round and round those big white wings	        
  Grimly and ghostlike creep,	
My little one hears that the old mill sings	
  “Sleep, little tulip, sleep!”	
 
The sails are reefed and the nets are drawn,	
  And, over his pot of beer,	        
The fisher, against the morrow’s dawn,	
  Lustily maketh cheer.	
He mocks at the winds that caper along	
  From the far-off clamorous deep,—	
But we—we love their lullaby song	        
  Of “Sleep, little tulip, sleep!”	
 
Old dog Fritz in slumber sound	
  Groans of the stony mart:	
To-morrow how proudly he ’ll trot you round,	
  Hitched to our new milk-cart!	        
And you shall help me blanket the kine	
  And fold the gentle sheep,	
And set the herring a-soak in brine,—	
  But now, little tulip, sleep!	
 
A Dream-One comes to button the eyes	        
  That wearily droop and blink,	
While the old mill buffets the frowning skies	
  And scolds at the stars that wink;	
Over your face the misty wings	
  Of that beautiful Dream-One sweep,	        
And rocking your cradle she softly sings	
  “Sleep, little tulip, sleep!”
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