FOR
BEDTIME
FOR
BEDTIME
Wynken,
Blynken, and Nod one night
Sailed
off in a wooden shoe--
Sailed
on a river of crystal light,
Into
a sea of dew.
"Where
are you going, and what do you wish?"
The
old moon asked the three.
"We
have come to fish for the herring fish
That
live in this beautiful sea;
Nets
of silver and gold have we!"
Said
Wynken, Blynken, And Nod.
The
old moon laughed and sang a song,
As
they rocked in the wooden shoe,
And
the wind that sped them all night long
Ruffled
the waves of dew.
The
little stars were the herring fish
That
lived in that beautiful sea--
"Now
cast your nets wherever you wish--
Never
afeard are we";
So
cried the stars to the fishermen three:
Wynken,
Blynken, And Nod.
All
night long their nets they threw
To
the stars in the twinkling foam--
Then
down from the skies came the wooden shoe,
Bringing
the fishermen home;
'Twas
all so pretty a sail it seemed
As
if it could not be,
And
some folks thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed
Of
sailing that beautiful sea--
But
I shall name you the fishermen three:
Wynken,
Blynken, And Nod.
Wynken
and Blynken are two little eyes,
And
Nod is a little head,
And
the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
Is
a wee one's trundle-bed.
So
shut your eyes while mother sings
Of
wonderful sights that be,
And
you shall see the beautiful things
As
you rock in the misty sea,
Where
the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:
Wynken,
Blynken, And Nod.
From
breakfast on through all the day
At
home among my friends I stay;
But
every night I go abroad
Afar
into the Land of Nod.
All
by myself I have to go,
With
none to tell me what to do --
All
alone beside the streams
And
up the mountain-sides of dreams.
The
strangest things are there for me,
Both
things to eat and things to see,
And
many frightening sights abroad
Till
morning in the Land of Nod.
Try
as I like to find the way,
I
never can get back by day,
Nor
can remember plain and clear
The
curious music that I hear.
All
night long and every night,
When
my mamma puts out the light,
I
see the people marching by,
As
plain as day, before my eye.
Armies
and emperors and kings,
All
carrying different kinds of things,
And
marching in so grand a way,
You
never saw the like by day.
So
fine a show was never seen
At
the great circus on the green;
For
every kind of beast and man
Is
marching in that caravan.
At
first they move a little slow,
But
still the faster on they go,
And
still beside them close I keep
Until
we reach the Town of Sleep.
In
winter I get up at night
And
dress by yellow candle-light.
In
summer, quite the other way,
I
have to go to bed by day.
I
have to go to bed and see
The
birds still hopping on the tree,
Or
hear the grown-up people's feet
Still
going past me in the street.
And
does it not seem hard to you,
When
all the sky is clear and blue,
And
I should like so much to play,
To
have to go to bed by day?
The
rabbits play no more,
The
little birds are weary,
The
buttercups are folded up --
Good
night, good night, my dearie.
The
children in the country,
The
children in the city,
Go
to their beds with nodding heads --
Good
night, good night, my pretty.
The
Rock-a-by Lady from Hush-a-by Street
Comes
stealing, comes creeping;
The
poppies they hang from her head to her feet
And
each hath a dream that is tiny and fleet,
She
bringeth her poppies to you, my sweet,
When
she findeth you sleeping!
There
is one little dream of a beautiful drum,
"rub-a-dub!"
it goeth:
There
is one little dream of a big sugar-plum,
And
lo, thick and fast the other dreams come,
Of
pop guns that bang, and tin tops that hum,
And
a trumpet that bloweth.
And
dollies peep out of those wee little dreams
With
laughter and singing;
And
boats go a-floating on silvery streams,
And
the stars peek-a-boo with their own misty gleams,
And
up, up and up, where the Mother Moon beams,
The
fairies go winging!
Would
you dream all these dreams that are tiny and fleet?
They'll
come to you sleeping;
So
shut the two eyes that are weary, my sweet,
For
the Rock-a-by Lady from Hush-a By Street,
With
poppies that hang from her head to her feet,
Comes
stealing, comes creeping.
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