Thou canst not understand my words,
  No love for me was meant;
The smile that lately crossed thy face
  Was but an accident.

The music's thine, but mine the tears
  That make thy lullaby;
To-day I'll rock thee into sleep,
  To-morrow thou must die.

And when our babies sleep their last,
  Like agèd dames or men,
They need nor mother's lullaby,
  Nor any rocking then.