There’s not a rose where’er I seek, As comely as my baby’s cheek.
There’s not a comb of honey-bee, So full of sweets as babe to me.
There’s not a star that shines on high, Is brighter than my baby’s eye.
There’s not a boat upon the sea, Can dance as baby does to me.
No silk was ever spun so fine, As is the hair of baby mine.
My baby smells more sweet to me, Than smells in spring the elder tree.
And it’s O! sweet, sweet! and lullaby.