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"Indeed, I do not know that I am so," said the moonbeam. "But I am very old, and I have travelled many, many leagues, and I have seen wondrous things. Sometimes I toss upon the ocean, sometimes I fall upon a slumbering flower, sometimes I rest upon a dead child's face. I see the fairies at their play, and I hear mothers singing lullabies. Last night I swept across the frozen bosom of a river.
"I hear them, but I do not know what they say. Tell me." "Tell thee! No one can tell thee, child, if thee can not understand for thyself. The message differs for the hearers, and the difference is in the ear and not the sound." They both paused for a moment, and listened to those soothing lullabies with which nature sings the world to sleep.
At last at about twilight, at the time of day when the prairie skies are mellow with tints fit for a Turner and the prairie winds sough with the tenderness of lullabies, resting for a period, in order to prepare for the fury of the night, they came upon the forks of the two rivers, sparsely sheltered by a few straggling and wind-blown trees.
She must put him to bed and sing lullabies to him, she must rub his limbs when they ached with rheumatic pains; hers was the only hand which might touch the sores that continually broke out, and he would sit for long spaces on her lap, sometimes stroking down the scar and pitying it with "Poor Grisly; when I am a man, I will throw down my glove, and fight with that lad, and kill him."
Edward Berge, Sculptor At sight of your form, I seem now to see A bright stretch of color across a broad lea, Where the wildflowers sway to and fro in the breeze, Where the winds sing soft lullabies up in the trees Where all is as fresh, free and wholesome as you, Little Wildflower, blooming, so sweet and so true.
The overheard rill of Georgiana's voice issues from inner depths of being that no human soul has ever visited, or perhaps will ever visit. What would I not give to thread my way, bidden and alone, to that far region of uncaptured loveliness? Of late some of the overhead lullabies have touched me inexpressibly.
The robins were gone, and so was Belinda's occupation, but she had more important things on hand, and after the first joy of greetings, the little grandmother led Anne to a cozy corner of the little kitchen, where in a big basket, Belinda sang lullabies to four happy, sleepy balls of down as white as herself.
Well I know You hear, like a sweet refrain, Lullabies ever soft and low In the falling summer rain.
Such a scene the poet undoubtedly had in his mind when he sang: "The murmuring wind, the moving leaves Lull'd him at length to sleep, With mingled lullabies of sight and sound." Such experiences as these had taught me to love my faithful and true friend. But I found I was not the only man in the command who was bereaved of his first love.
"Love blossoms in flowers, sings in moving waters, fills the forest with birds, and makes all the wonderful music of Spring. It puts the colour upon the robin's breast, scents the orchard with far-reaching drifts of bloom, and scatters the pink and white petals over the grass beneath. Through love the flower changes to fruit, and the birds sing lullabies at twilight instead of mating songs.
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