Half-waking

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.