LULLABY Husheen the herons are crying, Away in the rain and the sleet, Flying and flying and flying With never a rest to their feet. But warm in your coverlet nestle, Wee bird, till the dawn of the day, Nor dream of the wild wings that wrestle In the night and the rain and the gray. Come, sweetheart, the bright ones would bring you By the magical meadows and streams, With the light of your dreaming they build you A house on the hill of your dreams. But you stir in your sleep and you murmur, As though the wild rain and the gray Wet hills with the wind ever blowing Had driven your dreams away. And dearer the wind in its crying, And the secrets the wet hills hold, Than the goldenest place they could find you In the heart of a country of gold. -- Seumas O'Sullivan (born 1879)