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.

William Allingham

Index to poems in the collection by William Allingham