Dread Lilith, spare
The babe at my breast!

Mercy, weird Lilith!
Even sleeping,
My babe lies so chill. See, the reindeer I give!
Ah, lift thy dark wings, that my darling may live!
Pale Lilith comes!
Listen, my babe!

Once, in the Northland,
Pale crocus grew
By half-wakened stream. It lay shriveled and low
Ere the spring-time had come, in soft shroud of snow.
Sad Lilith comes!
Listen, my babe!

Foul Vampire, drain not
From my loved one
The life-current red. O Demon, art breaking
My heart while I plead? Ah, babe! Art thou waking?
Lilith, I live!
Closer my babe!

Far o'er the dun wold,
Baby, behold
'Mid the mist and the snow, fast, fast, and more fast--
In the teeth of the blast--flies Lilith at last.
Pale Lilith flies!
Nearer, my babe!

By Ganges still the Indian mother weaves
Above her babe her mat of plantain leaves,
And laughing, plaits. Or pausing, sweet and low
Her voice blends with the river's drowsy flow;
The while she fitful sings that old, old strain,
Forgetting that the love, the deathless pain
Of wandering Lilith lives and throbs again
When falls the tricksy Elf-babes' mocking cry
Faintly across her crooning lullaby--

Ah, happy babe, that here may sleep
Where the blue river winds along,
And sweet the trysting bulbuls keep
The night o'er-brimmed with pulsing song.

Not so, mine own, as legends tell,
In lands remote, beyond the day,
The soulless babes of Lilith dwell,
Or vanish 'mong the cold mists gray.

Or oft in elfin glee they ride
O'er burning deserts blown adrift,
Or singing idly, idly glide
Afar beyond Night's purple rift.

But thou, my babe, for thee shall grow
The lilies, nodding by the stream;
For thee, the poppy's sleepy glow;
For thee, the jonquil's pallid gleam.

My baby, sleep! Against the sky
The pippul lifts its trembling crest.
O baby, hush each wailing cry,
Close to the holy river's breast.

Not here shall come that pale wraith fair,
Who, wandering once in Northern lands,
Bore o'er long reaches sere and