Brown heads and gold around my knee
Dispute in eager play;
Sweet, childish voices in my ear
Are sounding all the day;
Yet sometimes in a sudden hush
I seem to hear a tone
Such as my little boy's had been,
If I had kept my own.

And ofttimes when they come to me
As evening hours grow long,
And beg me, winningly, to give
A story or a song,
I see a pair of star-bright eyes
Among the others shine —
The eyes of him who ne'er hath heard
Story or song of mine.

At night, I go my round and pause
Each white-draped cot beside,
And note how flushed is this one's cheek,
How that one's curls lie wide;
And to a corner tenantless
My swift thoughts go apace —
That would have been, if he had lived,
My other darling's place.

The years go fast; my children soon
Within the world of men
Will find their work, and venture forth
Not to return again;
But there is one who cannot go, —
I shall not be alone, —
The little one who did not live
Will always be my own.