Sleep, pretty lady, the night is enfolding you,
     Drift, and so lightly, on crystalline streams.
Wrapped in its perfumes, the darkness is holding you;
     Starlight bespangles the way of your dreams.
Chorus the nightingales, wistfully amorous;
     Blessedly quiet, the bare of day.
All the sweet hours may your visions be glamorous,—
     Sleep, pretty lady, as long as you may.

Sleep, pretty lady, the night shall be still for you;
     Silvered and silent, it watches your rest.
Each little breeze, in its eagerness, will for you
     Murmur the melodies ancient and blest.
So in the midnight does happiness capture us;
     Morning is dim with another day's tears.
Give yourself sweetly to images rapturous,—
     Sleep, pretty lady, a couple of years.

Sleep, pretty lady, the world awaits day with you;
     Girlish and golden, the slender young moon.
Grant the fond darkness its mystical way with you,
     Morning returns to us ever too soon.
Roses unfold, in their loveliness, all for you;
     Blossom the lilies for hope of your glance.
When you're awake, all the men go and fall for you,
     Sleep, pretty lady, and give me a chance.

From Enough Rope (Boni & Liveright, 1926) by Dorothy Parker. This poem is in the public domain.