CLOSE, little weary eyes,

The day at last is over, 

Tonight no more surprise

Shall they discover, 

Nor bird nor butterfly,

Nor unfamiliar flower, 

Nor picture in the sky,

Nor fairy in the bower.

Rest, little weary feet,

The woods are dark and lonely; 

The little birds rest sweet,

The owl is watching only; 

No buttercup is seen,

Nor daisy in the meadow; 

Their gold and white and green

Are turned to purple shadow.

Still, little restless heart,

Be still until the morrow; 

Till then thou hast no part

In either joy or sorrow. 

To new and joyous day,

Shall little birds awake thee; 

Again to work and play,

With strength renewed, betake thee.