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