Shut your eyes and try to say this lullaby to yourself. Can you make up a little slow tune for it in your mind — one that would put the orioles to sleep in their "gypsy nest"? 

LITTLE Child, Good Child, go to sleep. 
The tree-toads purr and the peepers peep; 
Under the apple-tree grass grows deep; 
Little Child, Good Child, go to sleep! 
Big star out in the orange west; 
Orioles swung in their gypsy nest; 
Soft wind singing what you love best; 
Rest till the sun-rise; rest, Child, rest! 
Swift dreams swarm in a silver flight. — 
Hand in hand with the sleepy Night 
Lie down soft with your eyelids tight. — 
Hush, Child, little Child! Hush.—Good-night. 

This would be a very good poem to use if you were trying to put baby brother or sister to sleep. It is rather difficult to learn because the stanzas are so much alike. It makes one sleepy just to read it. 
 

AS soon as the fire burns red and low, 
And the house up-stairs is still, 
She sings me a queer little sleepy song, 
Of sheep that go over a hill. 

The good little sheep run quick and soft, 
Their colors are gray and white: 
They follow their leader nose to tail, 
For they must be home by night. 

And one slips over and one comes next, 
And one runs after behind, 
The gray one's nose at the white one's tail, 
The top of the hill they find. 

And when they get to the top of the hill 
They quietly slip away, 
But one runs over and one comes next — 
Their colors are white and gray. 

And over they go, and over they go, 
And over the top of the hill, 
The good little sheep run quick and soft, 
And the house up-stairs is still. 

And one slips over and one comes next, 
The good little, gray little sheep! 
I watch how the fire burns red and low, 
And she says that I fall asleep. 

  

Do you ever wonder what the baby seeds say to each other far down under the ground and if they know who their neighbors are? 
 

LITTLE brown brother, oh! little brown  brother, 
Are you awake in the dark? 
Here we lie cosily, close to each other : 
Hark to the song of the lark — 
"Waken!" the lark says, "waken and dress you ; 
Put on your green coats and gay, 
Blue sky will shine on you, sunshine caress you — 
Waken! 'tis morning— 'tis May!" 

Little brown brother, oh! little brown brother, 
What kind of a flower will you be? 
I'll be a poppy — all white, like my mother; 
Do be a poppy like me. 
What! You're a sunflower! How I shall miss you 
When you're grown golden and high! 
But I shall send all the bees up to kiss you; 
Little brown brother, good-bye. 

QUEEN Anne, Queen Anne, has washed her lace 
(She chose a summer's day) 
And hung it in a grassy place 
To whiten, if it may. 

Queen Anne, Queen Anne, has left it there, 
And slept the dewy night; 
Then waked, to find the sunshine fair, 
And all the meadows white. 

Queen Anne, Queen Anne, is dead and gone 
(She died a summer's day), 
But left her lace to whiten on 
Each weed-entangled way!

Have you ever watched hens go to bed? This poem is full of words which exactly describe the way hens sound when they are settling down for the night. Which line do you like best? What do you think the hens are asking? 
 

THE night was coming very fast; 
It reached the gate as I ran past. 

The pigeons had gone to the tower of the church 
And all the hens were on their perch 

Up in the barn, and I thought I heard 
A piece of a little purring word. 

I stopped inside, waiting and staying, 
To try to hear what the hens were saying. 

They were asking something, that was plain, 
Asking it over and over again. 

One of them moved and turned around, 
Her feathers made a ruffled sound, 

A ruffled sound, like a bushful of birds, 
And she said her little asking words. 

She pushed her head close into her wing, 
But nothing answered anything. 

There are some kinds of trees which seem to us almost as if they were people. We feel like giving them names of their own. The apple tree seems particularly human. What kind of tree do you think this one was? 
 

AWAY beyond the Jarboe house 
I saw a different kind of tree. 
Its trunk was old and large and bent, 
And I could feel it look at me. 

The road was going on and on 
Beyond to reach some other place. 
I saw a tree that looked at me, 
And yet it did not have a face. 

It looked at me with all its limbs; 
It looked at me with all its bark. 
The yellow wrinkles on its sides 
Were bent and dark. 

And then I ran to get away, 
But when I stopped and turned to see, 
The tree was bending to the side 
And leaning out to look at me.