As I lay awake in the white moon light,

I heard a faint singing in the wood,

'Out of bed,

Sleepyhead,

Put your white foot now,

Here are we,

Neath the tree

Singing round the root now!'



I looked out of window, in the white moon light,

The trees were like snow in the wood--

'Come away,

Child, and play

Light with the gnomies;

In a mound,

Green and round,

That's where their home is.

Honey sweet,

Curds to eat,

Cream and frumenty,

Shells and beads,

Poppy seeds,

You shall have plenty.'



But soon as I stooped in the dim moon light

To put on my stocking and my shoes,

The sweet sweet singing died sadly away,

And the light of the morning peeped through:

Then instead of the gnomies there came a red robin

To sing of the buttercups and dew.
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