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
Til fast asleep I fall.
(-William Allingham)
