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Eleanor Farjeon (Элинор Фарджон)

Little Dream-Brother

Little dream-brother that died
When I was not a year out of heaven,
I heard you when you tried
To come to me yestereven.

As I lay in bed
Midway 'twixt nothingness and waking,
I heard the window shaking
And the beat of wings upon the pane.
"It is not the rain,
But my little dream-brother out there," I said.

I turned in bed:
"Come in, little dream-brother."
"I can only come in by the gates of sleep
And by no other.
Through the niche of the tiniest dream I can creep—
Sleep, sister, do sleep," you said.

And so through the night we waited—
You on the window-threshold there
In the wet windy weather,
And I abed—with breath bated,
Just to catch the first moment of sleep unaware
And fly kissing together.

But sleep would not come till seven,
When the shivering day
Looked up all chilly and grey.
"Creep into bed,
Little dream-brother, under my arm
And I'll keep you warm."
But you shook your head:
"It's bed-time in heaven,
Sister. Goodbye," you said.

There was not a whole year between you
And me, little dream-brother.
I cannot remember even to have seen you ...
And now I might be your mother.

Eleanor Farjeon's other poems:
  1. Wild Hyacinth
  2. In the Oculist's Anteroom
  3. Sonnets. 9. Love Needs not Two the Render It Complete
  4. Myfanwy Among the Leaves
  5. The Moral

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