Henry Wadsworth Longfellow — The Child Asleep

Sweet babe! true portrait of thy father's face,        &nbsp Sleep on the bosom that thy lips have pressed! Sleep, little one; and closely, gently place        &nbsp Thy drowsy eyelid on thy mother's breast. Upon that tender eye, my little friend,        &nbsp Soft sleep shall come, that cometh not to me! I watch to see thee, nourish thee, defend;        &nbsp 'T is sweet to watch for thee, alone for thee! His arms fall down; sleep sits upon his brow;        &nbsp His eye is closed; he sleeps, nor dreams of harm. Wore not his cheek the apple's ruddy glow,        &nbsp Would you not say he slept on Death's cold arm? Awake, my boy! I tremble with affright!        &nbsp Awake, and chase this fatal thought! Unclose Thine eye but for one moment on the light!        &nbsp Even at the price of thine, give me repose! Sweet error! he but slept, I breathe again;        &nbsp Come, gentle dreams, the hour of sleep beguile! O, when shall he, for whom I sigh in vain,        &nbsp Beside me watch to see thy waking smile?