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.
2 min read
СлушатьHalf-waking
0
0
106
Give Award
William Allingham
William Allingham (19 March 1824 – 18 November 1889) was an Irish poet, diarist and editor. He wrote several volumes of lyric verse, and his poe…
Other author posts
Late Autumn
Otbr - an th skis ar l an gray O'r stubbls mpti f thir latst shaf, Bar maw, an th slwly falling laf Th ignity f ws in rih ay Ars full wll with this majsti grif That lths ur slmn purpl ...…
Robin Redbreast
G-by, g-by t Summr Fr Summr's narly n; Th garn smiling faintly, Cl brzs in th sun;…
The Girls Lamentation
With grif an murning I sit t spin; My Lv pass by, an h in't m in; H passs by m, bth ay an night, An arris ff my pr hart's light Thr is a tavrn in ynr twn, My Lv gs thr an h spns a rwn; H taks...…
The Eviction
In arly mrning twilight, raw an hill, Damp vapurs bring n th barrn hill, Thrugh mils f mir in stay grav array Thrsr wll-arm' pli pursu thir way; Eah tall an bar man a rifl swings,…
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
