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.