only in sleep i see their faces,
children i played with when i was a child,
Cassandra comes back with her brown hair braided,
Timbyr 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?
