If thou wert here, these tears were tears of light!
       &nbspBut from as sweet a vision did I start
As ever made these eyes grow idly bright!
       &nbspAnd though I weep, yet still around my heart
A sweet and playful tenderness doth linger,
Touching my heart as with an infant's finger.

My mouth half open, like a witless man,
       &nbspI saw our couch, I saw our quiet room,
Its shadows heaving by the fire-light gloom;
       &nbspAnd o'er my lips a subtle feeling ran,
All o'er my lips a soft and breeze-like feeling—
I know not what—but had the same been stealing

Upon a sleeping mother's lips, I guess
       &nbspIt would have made the loving mother dream
That she was softly bending down to kiss
       &nbspHer babe, that something more than babe did seem,
A floating presence of its darling father,
And yet its own dear baby self far rather!

Across my chest there lay a weight, so warm!
       &nbspAs if some bird had taken shelter there;
And lo! I seemed to see a woman's form—
       &nbspThine, Sara, thine? O joy, if thine it were!
I gazed with stifled breath, and feared to stir it,
No deeper trance e'er wrapt a yearning spirit!

And now, when I seemed sure thy face to see,
       &nbspThy own dear self in our own quiet home;
There came an elfish laugh, and wakened me:
       &nbsp'Twas Frederic, who behind my chair had clomb,
And with his bright eyes at my face was peeping.
I blessed him, tried to laugh, and fell a-weeping!