Like flowers in the green, green grass.
Tiny babes that swing and crow
Whenever the warm winds pass,
And laugh at their own bright eyes aglow
In a fairy looking-glass.
Come to the sea where the babies sail
In ships of shining pearl,
Borne to the west by a golden gale
Of sun-beams all awhirl;
And perhaps a baby brother will sail
To you, my little girl.