Sleep, little pigeon,
And fold your wings,
Little blue pigeon
With velvet eyes;
Sleep to the singing
Of mother-bird swinging
Swinging the nest
Where her little one lies.

Away out yonder
I see a star,
Silvery star
With a tinkling song;
To the soft dew falling
I hear it calling
Calling and tinkling
The night along.

In through the window
A moonbeam comes,
Little gold moonbeam
With misty wings;
All silently creeping,
It asks; “Is he sleeping
Sleeping and dreaming
While mother sings?”…

But sleep, little pigeon,
And fold your wings,
Little blue pigeon
With mournful eyes;
Am I not singing? —
See, I am swinging —
Swinging the nest
Where my darling lies.