A Secret
A little baby went to sleepOne night in his white bed,And the moon came by to take a peepAt the little baby head.
A wind, as wandering winds will do,Brought to the baby thereSweet smells from some quaint flower that grewOut on some hill somewhere.
And wind and flower and pale moonbeamAbout the baby’s bedStirred and woke the funniest dreamIn the little sleepy head.
He thought he was all sorts of thingsFrom a lion to a cat;Sometimes he thought he flew on wings,Or fell and fell, so that
When morning broke he was right gladBut much surprised to seeHimself a soft, pink little ladJust like he used to be.
I would not give this story fameIf there were room to doubt it,But when he learned to talk, he cameAnd told me all about it.