Only In Sleep — by Sara Teasdale
Only in sleep, I see their faces
Children I played with when I was a child
She comes back with her brown hair braided
He with ringlets warm and wild
Only in sleep, Time is forgotten
What may have come to them, who can know?
Yet we played last night as long ago
And the doll-house stood at the turn of the stair
The years had not sharpened their smooth round faces
I met their eyes and found them mild
Do they, too, dream of me, I wonder
And for them, am I too a child?