And in a chair well-known<br/>My mother sat, and did not tire<br/>With reading all alone.<br/>If I should make the slightest sound<br/>To show that I'm awake,<br/>She'd rise, and lap the blankets round,<br/>My pillow softly shake; <br/>Kiss me, and turn my face to see<br/>The shadows on the wall,<br/>And then sing Rousseau's Dream to me,<br/>Till fast asleep I fall.
William Allingham