I THOUGHT it was the little bed I slept in long ago; A straight white curtain at the head, And two smooth knobs below. I thought I saw the nursery fire, And in a chair well-known My mother sat, and did not tire With reading all alone. If I should make the slightest sound To show that I'm awake, She'd rise, and lap the blankets round, My pillow softly shake; Kiss me, and turn my face to see The shadows on the wall, And then sing "Rousseau's Dream" to me, Till fast asleep I fall. But this is not my little bed; That time is far away: With strangers now I live instead, From dreary day to day. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FIVE SOULS by WILLIAM NORMAN EWER AN ARMY CORPS ON THE MARCH by WALT WHITMAN SONGS OF LABOR: DEDICATION by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE WHEELING WORLD by JAMES ROBERT ALLEN THE WANDERER'S RETURN by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT AN ELEGY ON A MAIDEN NAME by JANE CAVE |