A Secret

A little baby went to sleep                 One night in his white bed,              And the moon came by to take a peep                 At the little baby head.              A wind, as wandering winds will do,                 Brought to the baby there              Sweet smells from some quaint flower that grew                 Out on some hill somewhere.              And wind and flower and pale moonbeam                 About the baby's bed              Stirred and woke the funniest dream                 In the little sleepy head.              He thought he was all sorts of things                 From a lion to a cat;              Sometimes he thought he flew on wings,                 Or fell and fell, so that              When morning broke he was right glad                 But much surprised to see              Himself a soft, pink little lad                 Just like he used to be.              I would not give this story fame                 If there were room to doubt it,              But when he learned to talk, he came                 And told me all about it.