Only in sleep I see their faces
Children I played with when I was a child
Louise comes back with her brown hair braided
Annie with ringlets warm and wild

Only in sleep Time is forgotten—
What may have come to them, who can know?
Yet we played last night as long ago
And the doll-house stood at the turn of the stair

The years had not sharpened their smooth round faces
I met their eyes and found them mild—
Do they, too, dream of me, I wonder
And for them am I too a child?