Читать книгу Bentley's Miscellany, Volume II - Various - Страница 32

What soft low strains are these I hear

That come my dreams between?

Oh! mother, look! who may it be

That plays so late at e'en?

"I hear no sound, I see no form;

Oh! rest in slumber mild:

They'll bring no music to thee now,

My poor, my sickly child!"

It is not music of the earth

That makes my heart so light;

The angels call me with their songs,

Oh! mother dear, good night!