Page:Poems Welby.djvu/144

THE DREAMERS.

Countless as the stars, whose numbers
 Mock us where their brightness glows,
Are the dreams, that haunt our slumbers
 When we're gathered to repose;
And, as each soft starry peeper
 Bursts forth in its own bright beam,
So it is with every sleeper—
 Each one hath a separate dream.

Mother, on thy couch reclining
 With thy pale cheek wet with tears,
Sleep around thy heart is twining
 Buried hopes of former years;
Dream'st thou of each faded blossom,
 Folded once upon thy breast?
Mourn not, for within his bosom
 They have found a safer rest.

Maiden, whose warm cheek is glowing
 With the spirit of thy dreams,
Each wild bud of fancy blowing
 To thy mind as real seems;