Poetry Archives

A sunbeam comes a-creeping
Into my dear one’s nest,
And sings to our babe a-sleeping
The song that I love the best:
“‘T is little Luddy-Dud in the morning—
‘T is little Luddy-Dud at night;
And all day long
‘T is the same sweet song
Of that waddling, toddling, coddling little mite,
Luddy-Dud.”

The bird to the tossing clover,
The bee to the swaying bud,
Keep singing that sweet song over
Of wee little Luddy-Dud.
“‘T is little Luddy-Dud in the morning—
‘T is little Luddy-Dud at night;
And all day long
‘T is the same dear song
Of that growing, crowing, knowing little sprite,
Luddy-Dud.”

Luddy-Dud’s cradle is swinging
Where softly the night winds blow,
And Luddy-Dud’s mother is singing
A song that is sweet and low:
“‘T is little Luddy-Dud in the morning—
‘T is little Luddy-Dud at night;
And all day long
‘T is the same sweet song
Of my nearest and my dearest heart’s delight,
Luddy-Dud!”