Fancy in my lover's eyes:
It is for you the cricket cries;
Notice how he sinks to sleep
Each morning when her eyelids rise.

Or else the sun chars off his legs
And sends him drowning to the dregs
Of consciousness, whose cup is deep
And fits him with ethereal pegs:

Alas, they let the cricket fly
But cease to sing our lullaby,
Or drenched with dreaming, resonate
Not while we sleep but when we try.