| |
| BED is the boon for me! | |
| It’s well to bake and sweep, | |
| But hear the word of old Lizette: | |
| It’s better than all to sleep. | |
| |
| Summer and flowers are gay, | 5 |
| And morning light and dew; | |
| But aged eyelids love the dark | |
| Where never a light peeps through. | |
| |
| What!—open-eyed, my dears? | |
| Thinking your hearts will break. | 10 |
| There’s nothing, nothing, nothing, I say, | |
| That’s worth the lying awake! | |
| |
| I learned it in my youth— | |
| Love I was dreaming of! | |
| I learned it from the needle-work | 15 |
| That took the place of love. | |
| |
| I learned it from the years | |
| And what they brought about; | |
| From song, and from the hills of joy | |
| Where sorrow sought me out. | 20 |
| |
| It’s good to dream and turn, | |
| And turn and dream, or fall | |
| To comfort with my pack of bones, | |
| And know of nothing at all! | |
| |
| Yes, never know at all! | 25 |
| If prowlers mew or bark, | |
| Nor wonder if it’s three o’clock | |
| Or four o’clock of the dark. | |
| |
| When the longer shades have fallen | |
| And the last weariness | 30 |
| Has brought the sweetest gift of life, | |
| The last forgetfulness. | |
| |
| If a sound as of old leaves | |
| Stir the last bed I keep, | |
| Then say, my dears: “It’s old Lizette— | 35 |
| She’s turning in her sleep!” | |
| |
