The Unwritten Song

Now where's a song for our small dear,
With her quaint voice and her quick ear,
To sing—for gnats and bats to hear—
At twilight in her bed?
A song of tiny elfin things
With shiny, silky, silvery wings,
Footing it in fairy rings,
And kissing overhead.

A song of starry glow-worms' lights
In the long grass of shadowy nights,
And flitting showers of firefly flights,
Where summer woods hang deep;
Of hovering, noiseless owls that find
Their way at dark; and of a kind
And drowsy, drowsy ocean wind
That puts the sea to sleep.

But where's the song for our small dear,
With her quaint voice and her quick ear,
To sing—for dreamland things to hear—
And hush herself to sleep?