Rock Me to Sleep

Elizabeth Akers Allen, 1832 - 1911

Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight,

Make me a child again just for tonight!

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 tonight 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 tonight,

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!

[This poem is in the public domain.]

Elizabeth Akers Allen/ Elizabeth Anne Chase Akers Allen, née Elizabeth Anne Chase, was born on October 9, 1832, in Strong, Maine. She grew up in Farmington, Maine, where she attended Farmington Academy.

I looked it up because Daylight Saving Time ends tonight, and we go back an hour in time. It may be the last time from talk I hear. No more DST?

When it’s a journal. An article in the NT yesterday reminds readers to write a daily journal in order to reduce stress and improve memory, referring to Julia Cameron (The Artist’s Way, first published 1992; 25th Anniversary Edition, 2016), one of whose recommendations is to write 3 pages of a journal, longhand, every morning. Done that. And yes, it helps. I must have a first edition - haven’t checked. I was still living in my winterized cottage in Muskoka when I read it and took it seriously. Cameron offers a 12-step program, not unrelated to AA but not the same, she maintains. I believe her.

My son and his roommate are getting shovelled out this morning by a team from Molly Maid and I have to go and protect them - the maids, not the young men. I’ll be back. Wait for me.

Or not.

I’m back now but I don’t know how long I’ll last. I worked at my book this afternoon after I returned home and I’m— never mind. You know. I wanted to tell you a little more about Julia Cameron. In addition to the daily journalling she recommends. She proposed a different project each week. I actually faced the most difficult and memorable one twice, at least twelve months apart.

NO READING FOR A WEEK!

That meant no books, no newspapers or magazines, no letters or files, no books - i.e. no stories, so no TV (no movies up there, anyway).

NADA

It was a revelation. I live by words. I have a Gutenberg complex . It’s a serious addiction. Well - how did I manage? What did I do? I look back now and wonder. I did my mending, caught up about three years’ worth. This turned out to be an an incentive to do it a second time. I also cleaned out all my drawers and cupboards, especially the kitchen. That was good. I had to resort to other activities in the evening: I listened to a lot of LPs (in those days before CDs). That was interesting as I figured out what to LOOK at while I listened.

I had an odd feeling when I finished the week. I felt as if I had been ill with the flu and recovering normal life very slowly. I don’t think I could have survivied or completed or even begun this deprivation if I had been living in the city. The silence of the country and its different rhythms enabled me to experience the deprivation withoutt going stir-crazy.