As Ann came in one summer's day,
She felt that she must creep,
So silent was the clear cool house,
It seemed a house of sleep.
And sure, when she pushed open the door,
Rapt in the stillness there,
Her mother sat, with stooping head,
Asleep upon a chair;
Fast — fast asleep; her two hands laid Loose-folded on her knee,
So that her small unconscious face Looked half unreal to be:
So calmly lit with sleep's pale light Each feature was; so fair Her forehead — every trouble was Smooth'd out beneath her hair.
But though her mind in dream now moved,
Still seemed her gaze to rest From out beneath her fast-sealed lids,
Above her moving breast,
On Ann, as quite, quite still she stood;
Yet slumber lay so deep Even her hands upon her lap Seemed saturate with sleep.
And as Ann peeped, a cloudlike dread Stole over her, and then,
On stealthy, mouselike feet she trod,
And tiptoed out again.
