If I could make a pillow for your head, <br />Soft, pleasant, filled with every pretty thought; <br />If I could lay a carpet where you tread <br />Of all my life's most radiant fancies wrought, <br />And spread my love as canopy above you, <br />Your sleep, your steps should know how much I love you. <br /> <br />But--as life goes, to the old sorry tune-- <br />I stand apart, I see thorns wound your feet, <br />Your sleeping eyes resenting sun and moon, <br />Your head lie restless on a breast unmeet-- <br />And say no word, and suffer without moan, <br />Lest you should guess how much you are alone.<br /><br />Edith Nesbit<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-onlooker-2/
