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II
- Sleep, little baby, sleep,
- Though the wind is cruel and cold,
- And my shawl that I’ve wrapped thee in
- Is old and ragged and thin;
- And my hand is too frozen to hold—
- Yet my bosom’s still warm—so creep
- Close to thy mother, and sleep!
- Sleep, little baby, and rest,
- Though we wander alone through the night,
- And there is no food for me,
- No shelter for me and thee.
- Through the windows red fires shine bright,
- And tables show, heaped with the best—
- But there’s naught for us there—so rest.
- Sleep, you poor little thing!
- Just as pretty and dear
- As any fine lady’s child.
- Oh, but my heart grows wild!—
- Is it worth while to stay here?
- What good thing from life will spring
- For you—you poor little thing?
- Sleep, you poor little thing!
- Mine, my treasure, my own—
- I clasp you, I hold you close,
- My darling, my bird, my rose!
- Rich mothers have hearts like stone,
- Or else some help they would bring
- To you— you poor little thing?
- Sleep, little baby, sleep—
- If some good, rich mother would take
- My dear, I would kiss thee, and then
- Never come near thee again—
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- Not though my heart should break!
- I could leave thee, dear, for thy sake—
- For the river is dark and deep,
- And gives sleep, little baby, sleep!
