The Sleeper

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.