The wind is caught in the lilac bush
It struggles a-while, in vain,
And then, with one little wilful push,
It comes fluttering out again
It skips a-whispering up the path
It slips within the door
To rock the boat, that’s set afloat
On the sea of the nursery floor.
“Sleep little sailor,” it’s singing low,
“I’ve come to rock your ship;
I rock it away where the sleep waves play,
And the soft, gray dream gulls dip;
I’ll rock it away till you reach at last
The shores of a strange blue land
Then I’ll kiss your hair, and leave you there
With the rudder in your hand.”
The wind is back in the lilac bush
With the blossoms bent like a purple tent
To hold it there, all night;
“I’ve rocked the sailor away,” it says,
“And he’ll not come back, I think,
Till the stars grow white in the morning light
And the dawn is brushed with pink.”