Rock me to sleep
                    -Elizabeth Allen
BACKWARD, turn backward, O Time, in your flight,    
Make me a child again just for to-night!    
Mother, come back from the echoless shore,    
Take me again to your heart as of yore;    
Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care,           
Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair;    
Over my slumbers your loving watch keep;—    
Rock me to sleep, mother,—rock me to sleep!    
 
Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years!    
I am so weary of toil and of tears,—     
Toil without recompense, tears all in vain,—    
Take them, and give me my childhood again!    
I have grown weary of dust and decay,—    
Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away;    
Weary of sowing for others to reap;—     
Rock me to sleep, mother,—rock me to sleep!    
 
Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue,    
Mother, O mother, my heart calls for you!    
Many a summer the grass has grown green,    
Blossomed and faded, our faces between:     
Yet, with strong yearning and passionate pain,    
Long I to-night for your presence again.    
Come from the silence so long and so deep;—    
Rock me to sleep, mother,—rock me to sleep!    
 
Over my heart, in the days that are flown,     
No love like mother-love ever has shone;    
No other worship abides and endures,—    
Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours:    
None like a mother can charm away pain    
From the sick soul and the world-weary brain.     
Slumber's soft calms o'er my heavy lids creep;—    
Rock me to sleep, mother,—rock me to sleep!    
 
Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold,    
Fall on your shoulders again as of old;    
Let it drop over my forehead to-night,     
Shading my faint eyes away from the light;    
For with its sunny-edged shadows once more    
Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore;    
Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep;—    
Rock me to sleep, mother,—rock me to sleep!     
 
Mother, dear mother, the years have been long    
Since I last listened your lullaby song:    
Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem    
Womanhood's years have been only a dream.    
Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace,     
With your light lashes just sweeping my face,    
Never hereafter to wake or to weep;—    
Rock me to sleep, mother,—rock me to sleep!
 
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