 | Poems of house and home |  |
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THE TRUNDLE-BED.
Do you remember, Will?—long, long ago!.... Yet there thou liest, though all the sweet Past lies dead,
That nestled in thee, old, old trundle-bed!
Nest of delicious fancies, dreams that grow
No more!—quick magic-car to Fairyland!
Ghosts walked the earth then (in our garret too:
For Madge, the housemaid, told us—and she knew!)
In thee we saw them near, how near us, stand!
Stars then looked out of Heaven; to Heaven, light
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Though from the heart of her who bent so close,
Hushing us like fixed flowers that feel the night.
.... Fresh morn, poor little dreamers lost or dead,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
| Poems of house and home | |