Classic Poem

Since thou art gone, my lovely child, my dear
Soon-wither'd flower, O let thy image flee
From this bewilder'd mind, nor let me hear
Thy lisping voice; nor feel thee on my knee.
Where'er I turn my tearful eyes, I see
Thy hands at play, thy face e'er smiling near.
And Oh! thy smiles, that once were joy to me,
Are touching now, and cost me each a tear.
How long shall I, in idle dreams, embrace
The air? How long shall thus my tearful sight
Seem looking on the child I cannot see?
Oh! that my closing eyes would hide thy face,
Or see thy soul arising in the light.
Full sweet would be a death for life with thee