To the Little Bed at Night

Good-night, little bed, with your patient white pil-
Your light little spread, and your blanket of yel-
I wonder what leaves you so pensive to-night—
The breezes are tender, the stars are so bright,
I should think you would wrinkle a little and smile,
And be happy to think we can sleep for a while.
Are you waiting for something? Or are you just
To listen so breathlessly, hushed, as though dream-
A form that is fresher than breezes so light,
A coming more precious than stars to the night,
Who shall mould you as soft as the breast of a bil-
And crown with all beauty your patient white pil-
Good-night, little bed—are you lonely so late?
We will lie down together, together we’ll wait.

From Colors of life; poems and songs and sonnets (Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., 1918) by Max Eastman. Copyright © Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. This poem is in the public domain.