Lullaby

AT sunset our white butterflies
Vanish and fold and creep,
Where now the golden daylight dies,
Out in the field to sleep ;
Among the morning-glories furled
They furl their drowsy wings,
Forget the sun upon the world,
And what the sparrow sings ;
They will not know what dews may kiss
Nor what stars vigil keep ;
Fold up, white wing, and be like this
All in the twilight deep ;
With every thing that pretty is,
My little lady, sleep !