 | A memoir by Hallam Tennyson (1897) |  |
124
The Mother's Ghost.
Not a whisper stirs the gloom,
It will be the dawning soon,
We may glide from room to room,
In the glimmer of the moon:
Every heart is lain to rest,
All the house is fast in sleep,
Were I not a spirit blest,
Sisters, I could almost weep!
It will be the dawning soon,
We may glide from room to room,
In the glimmer of the moon:
Every heart is lain to rest,
All the house is fast in sleep,
Were I not a spirit blest,
Sisters, I could almost weep!
In that cradle sleeps my child,
She whose birth brought on my bliss:
On her forehead undefiled
I will print an airy kiss:
See, she dreameth happy dreams,
Her hands are folded quietly,
Like to one of us she seems,
One of us my child will be.
She whose birth brought on my bliss:
On her forehead undefiled
I will print an airy kiss:
125
Her hands are folded quietly,
Like to one of us she seems,
One of us my child will be.
| A memoir by Hallam Tennyson (1897) | |