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...JUST & UNJUST by CHARLES SYNGE CHRISTOPHER BOWEN TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE THE WHITE SHIPS AND THE RED by ALFRED JOYCE KILMER SONNET by THEODORE AGRIPPA D' AUBIGNE ON THE DISCOVERIES OF CAPTAIN LEWIS [JANUARY 14, 1807] by JOEL BARLOW PRIVATE DEVOTION by PHOEBE HINSDALE BROWN ALLAH IS WITH THE PATIENT by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR |