| Sleep O babe, for the red bee hums the silent twilight’s fall,
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| Aoibheall from the grey rock comes, to wrap the world in thrall.
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| A leanbhan O, my child, my joy, my love my heart’s desire,
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| The crickets sing you lullaby, beside the dying fire.
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| Dusk is drawn and the Green Man’s thorn is wreathed in rings of fog,
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| Siabhra sails his boat till morn, upon the Starry Bog.
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| A leanbhan O, the paly moon hath brimmed her cusp in dew,
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| And weeps to hear the sad sleep-tune, I sing O love to you.
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| Faintly sweet doth the chapel bell, ring o’er the valley dim,
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| Tearmann’s peasant voices swell, in fragrant evening hymn.
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| A leanbhan O, the low bell rings, my little lamb to rest,
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| And angel- dreams till morning sings, its music in your breast |