The shepherd boy lay asleep under the shadow of the banyan tree.
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It was noon. The children's playtime was over; the ducks in the pond were silent.
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In the meanwhile the Sleep-stealer came and, snatching sleep from baby's eyes, flew away.
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Who stole sleep from our baby's eyes? I must know. I must find her and chain her up.
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I must look into that dark cave, where, through boulders and scowling stones, trickles a tiny stream.
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Clasping her pitcher to her waist mother went to fetch water from the village near by.
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Who stole sleep from baby's eyes? I must know.
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The crane stood grave and still in the swamp near the mango grove.
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I must search in the drowsy shade of the bakula grove, where pigeons coo in their corner, and fairies' anklets tinkle in the stillness of starry nights.
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When mother came back she found baby travelling the room over on all fours.
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In the evening I will peep into the whispering silence of the bamboo forest, where fireflies squander their light, and will ask every creature I meet, "Can anybody tell me where the Sleep-stealer lives?"
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Who stole sleep from baby's eyes? I must know.
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Shouldn't I give her a good lesson if I could only catch her!
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I would raid her nest and see where she hoards all her stolen sleep.
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I would plunder it all, and carry it home.
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"Whose sleep will you steal now?"
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I would bind her two wings securely, set her on the bank of the river, and then let her play at fishing with a reed among the rushes and water-lilies.
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When the marketing is over in the evening, and the village children sit in their mothers' laps, then the night birds will mockingly din her ears with:
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