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The Dread Voyage: Poems

Chapter 22: HARVEST SLUMBER SONG.
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About This Book

The collection gathers lyrical and narrative poems that move between storm-borne sea voyages, winter and seasonal landscapes, and intimate meditations on love, guilt, death, and memory. Imagery is vivid and elemental—wind, ice, waves, and night recur—while voices shift from elegiac solitude to dramatic confession. Several pieces use dreamlike and mythic resonance to explore fate and remorse; others observe rural and shoreline scenes with tonal shifts from awe to foreboding. The sequence alternates compressed narrative episodes and reflective lyrics, creating an atmosphere of haunting inevitability and contemplative mourning.

HARVEST SLUMBER SONG.

Sleep, little baby, sleep, sleep, sleep, Red is the moon in the night’s still deep, White are the stars with their silver wings Folded in dreamings of beautiful things, And over their cradle the night wind sings, Sleep, little baby, sleep, sleep, sleep.
Soft in the lap of the mother night The wee baby stars, all glowing and bright, Flutter their silver wings and crow To the watchful winds that kiss as they blow Round the air-cradle that swings so low Down in the lap of the mother night.
Sleep, little baby, sleep, sleep, sleep, Red is the moon in the night’s still deep, And the wee baby stars are all folded and kissed In a luminous cradle of silver mist; And if ever they waken the winds cry, Whist, Sleep, little baby, sleep, sleep, sleep.