Sleep, o babe, for the red bee hums the silent twilight's
Fall,
Aoibheall from the grey rock comes, to wrap the world in
Thrall.
A leanbhan O, my child, my joy, my own, my heart's
Desire,
The crickets sing you lullaby, beside the dying fire.

Dusk is drawn and the Green Man's horn is wreathed in
Rings of fog,
Siabhra sails his boat till morn, upon the Starry Bog.
A leanbhan O, the paly moon has ringed her cusp in dew,
And weeps to hear the sad, sweet tune, I sing O love to
You.