Xviii

You cannot count the bluebells That are upon the heath,-- The ferns stand tall and stately, The bells hang underneath; But I can count the tassels As big as flowers of clover That hang on baby’s curtain, The curtain that hangs over; And when I rock the cradle The tassels swing and swing, And they make fairy music, And baby hears them ring; Ding-dong in the morning, And in the evening too, Rhime, chime, in fairy time, Baby, dear, for you!