Classic Poem

My babe unborn, I dream of thee,
Foreshaping all thy looks and wiles,
But Heaven's light may close on me,
Ere I thy real face can see
Ere I can watch thy dawning smiles.

My older children round my heart
For many a day have been entwined:
Yet dear to me, e'en now, thou art;
Fain would I do a Mother's part
Ere life and love are both resigned.

You will not droop, my precious dears,
When I am numbered with the dead:
You ne'er can know my cares and fears;
Your eyes will fill with childish tears,
Which o'er my grave will not be shed.

When others weep and mourn for me
That I no longer must be here,
Ne'er may they quench your childish glee;
No sadness ever may you see
To check the laugh of thoughtless cheer.

But when you gain reflection's dow'r
O ne'er thus joyless may you pine!
Ne'er may you know the anguished hour,
The sickening fears that overpower
This crushed but struggling heart of mine.

In dreams an airy course I take
And seem my tedious couch to fly:
Or o'er the bosom of the lake
Ere to captivity I wake,
My skimming boat I swiftly ply.

But nought my waking hours can bless—
I strive to sweeten Sorrow's cup;
'Tis all in vain, for ne'ertheless
I find it dregged with bitterness,
When to my lips I lift it up.

My griefs are not to be expressed:
Affection's voice can charm no more:
I ne'er shall find a steady rest,
Till, torn from all I love the best,
I seek the distant unknown shore.