in little white shirts,
with cake-princesses
in flounced white skirts.

Pit-pat--
mama walks slower...
slower and... slower...
Eyes... lamps... stars...
acres and acres of stars...
bells... and sleepily
flapping feet....
You're glad mama walks slow.
It's nice to be carried along
up high near the stars
that look at you with a grave, great look.

: :

Every night
mama sings you to sleep.
When she sings, O for the light of thine eyes Dolores,
there's a castle on a cliff
and the sea roars like lions.
It leaps at the castle
and the cliff knocks it down
but always the sea
shakes its flattened head
and gets up again.
The castle has no roof
so the rain spins silvery webs in it,