The sleep that flits on baby's eyes—does anybody know from where it comes? Yes, there is a rumour that it has its dwelling where, in the fairy village among shadows of the forest dimly lit with glow-worms, there hang two shy buds of enchantment. From there it comes to kiss baby's eyes. The smile that flickers on baby's lips when he sleeps—does anybody know where it was born? Yes, there is a rumour that a young pale beam of a crescent moon touched the edge of a vanishing autumn cloud, and there the smile was first born in the dream of a dew-washed morning—the smile that flickers on baby's lips when he sleeps.
Rabindranath Tagore · The Crescent Moon
Joy & wonder
“The sleep that flits on baby's eyes—does anybody know from…”
- Author
- Rabindranath Tagore
- Work
- The Crescent Moon
- Year
- 1913
- Chapter / part
- The Source
- Length
- 113 words
- Source
- Project Gutenberg eBook #6520
Public domain. This passage is in the public domain. Rabindranath Tagore died in 1941, more than 70 years ago, and the work was first published in 1913. You can copy, print, read aloud or sell it without asking permission; a credit is kind but not required. The text is copied word for word from the Project Gutenberg edition linked here.
Related passages
You were hidden in my heart as its desire, my darling. You were in the dolls of my childhood's games; and when with clay I made the image of my god every morning, I made and unmade you then. You were enshrined with our household deity, in his worship I worshipped you. In all my hopes and my loves, in my life, in the life of my mother you have lived. In the lap of the deathless Spirit who rules our home you have been nursed for ages.
If baby only wanted to, he could fly up to heaven this moment. It is not for nothing that he does not leave us. He loves to rest his head on mother's bosom, and cannot ever bear to lose sight of her.
Sweet dreams, form a shadeO’er my lovely infant’s head!Sweet dreams of pleasant streamsBy happy, silent, moony beams!Sweet Sleep, with soft downWeave thy brows an infant crown!Sweet Sleep, angel mild,Hover o’er my happy child!Sweet smiles, in the nightHover over my delight!Sweet smiles, mother’s smiles,All the livelong night beguiles.
William BlakeSongs of Innocence and of Experience, 1789 · A Cradle Song
Passage page · Read the full text
Passage page · Read the full text
Love me,—I love you,Love me, my baby;Sing it high, sing it low,Sing it as may be.Mother’s arms under you,Her eyes above you;Sing it high, sing it low,Love me,—I love you.
The joys of parents are secret; and so are their griefs and fears. They cannot utter the one; nor they will not utter the other.
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