Samuel Taylor Coleridge — The Day-dream. From an Emigrant to his Absent Wife

If thou wert here, these tears were tears of light!        &nbspBut from as sweet a vision did I start As ever made these eyes grow idly bright!        &nbspAnd though I weep, yet still around my heart A sweet and playful tenderness doth linger, Touching my heart as with an infant's finger. My mouth half open, like a witless man,        &nbspI saw our couch, I saw our quiet room, Its shadows heaving by the fire-light gloom;        &nbspAnd o'er my lips a subtle feeling ran, All o'er my lips a soft and breeze-like feeling— I know not what—but had the same been stealing Upon a sleeping mother's lips, I guess        &nbspIt would have made the loving mother dream That she was softly bending down to kiss        &nbspHer babe, that something more than babe did seem, A floating presence of its darling father, And yet its own dear baby self far rather! Across my chest there lay a weight, so warm!        &nbspAs if some bird had taken shelter there; And lo! I seemed to see a woman's form—        &nbspThine, Sara, thine? O joy, if thine it were! I gazed with stifled breath, and feared to stir it, No deeper trance e'er wrapt a yearning spirit! And now, when I seemed sure thy face to see,        &nbspThy own dear self in our own quiet home; There came an elfish laugh, and wakened me:        &nbsp'Twas Frederic, who behind my chair had clomb, And with his bright eyes at my face was peeping. I blessed him, tried to laugh, and fell a-weeping!