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...THEY HAVEN'T HEARD THE WEST IS OVER by JAMES GALVIN LET ME NOT LOSES MY DREAM by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON WORDS INTO WORDS WON'T GO by CLARENCE MAJOR SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: AMI GREEN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS DAWN BEHIND NIGHT by ISAAC ROSENBERG |