GOOD-BY to the cradle, the dear wooden cradle, <br />The rude hand of Progress has thrust it aside: <br />No more to its motion, o'er Sleep's fairy ocean, <br />Our play-weary wayfarers peacefully glide; <br />No more by the rhythm of slow-moving rocker <br />Their sweet, dreamy fancies are fostered and fed; <br />No more to low singing the cradle goes swinging-- <br />The child of this era is put into bed! <br />Good-by to the cradle, the dear wooden cradle,-- <br />It lent to the twilight a mystical charm: <br />When bees left the clover, when playtime was over, <br />How safe seemed this shelter from danger and harm; <br />How soft seemed the pillow, how distant the ceiling, <br />How weird were the voices that whispered around; <br />What dreams would come flocking as, rocking and rocking, <br />We floated away into slumber profound. <br />Good-by to the cradle, the old wooden cradle, <br />The babe of the day does not know it by sight; <br />When day leaves the border, with system and order <br />The child goes to bed, and we put out the light. <br />I bow to Progression; and ask no concession, <br />Though strewn be her pathway with wrecks of the Past. <br />So off with old lumber, that sweet ark of slumber, <br />The dear wooden cradle, is ruthlessly cast.<br /><br />Ella Wheeler Wilcox<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/good-by-to-the-cradle/
