Softly sighing,

Softly sighing,

Hear the poplar trees

Gently crying,

Gently crying,

With the evening breeze,

Singing a song of the southland,

Singing a low-voiced croon.

The wind blows lightly, slumber tightly

While it sings to you

Moon beams lay across your face -

Sleep, my little one, sleep.

Now the shadows from sleep land

Creep, my little one, sleep.

So smile in your dreams, O weary child,

While night it's silence keeps.

Softly sighing,

Softly sighing,

Low the poplar trees

Are gently crying,

Gently crying,

Sleep, sleep, sleep.