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.
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