Monday, May 20, 2013


To my fancy, idly roaming, comes a picture of the gloaming,
Comes a fragrance from the blossoms of the lilac and the rose;
With the yellow lamplight streaming I am sitting here and dreaming
Of a half-forgotten twilight whence a mellow memory flows;
To my listening ears come winging vagrant notes of woman's singing;
I've a sense of sweet contentment as the sounds are borne along;
'Tis a mother who is tuning her fond heart to love and crooning
To her laddie such a
Sleepy little
Creepy little
Ah, how well do I remember when by crackling spark and ember
The old-fashioned oaken rocker moved with rhythmic sweep and slow;
With her feet upon the fender, in a cadence low and tender,

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