NATURE’S CRADLE-SONG 397 
Thrice have come the soft spring showers 
Where thy quiet form reposes ; 
Thrice have blown the snowdrop flowers, 
Thrice the violets, thrice the roses, 
Murmuring oft with sweetest closes, 
“ Still thy soul in slumber steeping ?” 
— Thou art still in cradle sleeping. 
Thrice three hundred nights and morrows 
Moon and sun have watched thy dreaming ; 
Now they look with ceaseless sorrows 
O’er thee once with rapture gleaming ; 
Silent asks their steadfast beaming, 
“ Comes no light through darkness creeping ?” 
— Thou art still in cradle sleeping. 
Thrice spring zephyrs in their flowing 
Soft have rocked thee to repose ; 
Thrice rude Boreas, wilder blowing ; 
Every wind thy slumber knows, 
Striving, while the season goes, 
Which shall hold thee in his keeping. 
— Thou art still in cradle sleeping. 
