If thou wert here, these tears were tears of light! But from as sweet a vision did I start As ever made these eyes grow idly bright! And 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, I saw our couch, I saw our quiet room,
Its shadows heaving by the fire-light gloom; And 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 It would have made the loving mother dream That she was softly bending down to kiss Her 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! As if some bird had taken shelter there;
And lo! I seemed to see a woman's form — Thine, 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, Thy own dear self in our own quiet home; There came an elfish laugh, and wakened me: ‘ 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!
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