The moon is drowned in the little brown pool
Where the water is ever so deep.
I must help her out of the shadowy cool
Before I can go to sleep;
I must help her out with my friendly hands,
(If I saw her, how could I pass?)
Where the drooping tree on the hillside stands
I will put her to rest on the grass.
The stars must be weeping, and hiding their eyes,
And wondering where she can be;
And sending the clouds to hunt over the skies,
I am glad that she fell to me!
For now I may help her, and smooth her hair;
On the grass she shall rest, and then
When the little night wind finds her sleeping there
He will carry her home again.