Mapping Indigenous Poetry of North America, 1830-1924

"The Bird's Lullaby" by E. Pauline Johnson

I.
Sing to us, cedars; the twilight is creeping
    With shadowy garments, the wilderness through ;
All day we have carolled, and now would be
         sleeping,
So echo the anthems we warbled to you;
            While we swing, swing,
            And your branches sing,
    And we drowse to your dreamy whispering. 

II.
Sing to us, cedars; the night-wind is sighing,
    Is wooing, is pleading, to hear you reply;
And here in your arms we are restfully lying,
    And longing to dream to your soft lullaby;
            While we swing, swing,
            And your branches sing.
        And we drowse to your dreamy whispering. 
        
Ill.
Sing to us, cedars; your voice is so lowly,
    Your breathing so fragrant, your branches so 
                strong; 
Our little nest-cradles are swaying so slowly,
    While zephyrs are breathing their slumberous 
                song. 
            And we swing, swing,
            While your branches sing,
        And we drowse to your dreamy whispering. 
 

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