Come hither, Child! and rest:
This is the end of day,
Behold the weary West!
Sleep rounds with equal zest
Man's toil and children's play:
Come hither, Child! and rest.
My white bird, seek thy nest,
Thy drooping head down lay:
Behold the weary West!
Now are the flowers confest
Of slumber: sleep, as they!
Come hither, Child! and rest.
Now eve is manifest,
And homeward lies our way:
Behold the weary West!
Tired flower! upon my breast,
I would wear thee alway:
Come hither, Child! and rest;
Behold, the weary West!