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 cannot hurt us -- What may have come to them, who can know? They are women now if they are living, Yet we played last night as long ago, With stealthy secrets whispered low. Smooth round faces years had not sharpened, I met their eyes and found them mild -- Do they too dream of me, I wonder, I, an eager shadowy child Care had not darkened nor pain defiled? |