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Might is Right.
102
No tree to shield her, no sweet woodland flower
To lie upon her bosom for an hour.
Then must I like the breeze grow bold and take
Her heart itself, and might my right shall make.
To lie upon her bosom for an hour.
Then must I like the breeze grow bold and take
Her heart itself, and might my right shall make.
Lullaby
Lulla—lulla—bye—oh!
Shut that little eye oh!
Tuck that little drowsy head into its little nest.
Lulla—lulla—bye—oh!
Baby go to bye oh!
Of all the pleasant things I know, sure slumber is the best.
Shut that little eye oh!
Tuck that little drowsy head into its little nest.
Lulla—lulla—bye—oh!
Baby go to bye oh!
Of all the pleasant things I know, sure slumber is the best.
Lulla—lulla—lay—oh!
Where's the yellow day oh?
Gone to sleep upon its rosy pillows in the west,
Lulla—lulla—lay—oh!
Baby knows the way oh!
That leads along a dreamy path into a land of rest.
Where's the yellow day oh?
Gone to sleep upon its rosy pillows in the west,
Lulla—lulla—lay—oh!
Baby knows the way oh!
That leads along a dreamy path into a land of rest.
