24.06.2007, 11:15
Methought in dreams I saw my little son--
My little son that in his cradle died;
No more a babe, but all his childhood done,
A full-grown man. Deep-browed and tender-eyed,
I knew him by the subtle touch of me,
And by his mother's look, and by the eyes
We hold in such remembrance piteously,
And the bright smile so quick for sweet replies.
O Death, I would that from thy front of stone
My grief could wring one word, or my tears draw
On the strange night of life, one single gleam!
Was he whom by the gift of sleep I saw
The living shape of my belovèd gone,
My very son, or but a fleeting dream.
My little son that in his cradle died;
No more a babe, but all his childhood done,
A full-grown man. Deep-browed and tender-eyed,
I knew him by the subtle touch of me,
And by his mother's look, and by the eyes
We hold in such remembrance piteously,
And the bright smile so quick for sweet replies.
O Death, I would that from thy front of stone
My grief could wring one word, or my tears draw
On the strange night of life, one single gleam!
Was he whom by the gift of sleep I saw
The living shape of my belovèd gone,
My very son, or but a fleeting dream.