I always liked to go to bed -- It looked so dear and white. Besides, my mother used to tell A story every night. When other children cried to go I did not mind at all, She made such faery pageants grow Upon the bedroom wall. The room was full of slumber lights, Of seas and ships and wings, Of Holy Grails and swords and knights And beautiful, kind kings. And so she wove and wove and wove Her singing thoughts through mine. I heard them murmuring through my sleep, Sweet, audible, and fine. Beneath my pillow all night long I heard her stories sing, So spun through the enchanted sheet Was their soft shadowing. Dear custom, stronger than the years -- Then let me not grow dull! Still every night my bed appears Friendly and beautiful! Even now, when I lie down to sleep, It comes like a caress, And still somehow my childish heart Expects a pleasantness. I find in the remembering sheets Old stories, told by her, And they are sweet as rosemary And dim as lavender. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MY LAST DUCHESS; FERRRA by ROBERT BROWNING THE INCOGNITA OF RAPHAEL by WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER HOLY SONNET: SATIRE 3. ON RELIGION by JOHN DONNE THE ROAD NOT TAKEN by ROBERT FROST HAUNTED HOUSES by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW SUMMER LONGINGS by DENIS FLORENCE MCCARTHY |