In a dream I saw my sweetheart,
A woman harassed with care;
Faded, and haggard, and withered,
The form that had bloomed so fair.
One child in her arms she carried,
And one by the hand she led.
And trouble and poverty plainly
In her eyes and her raiment I read.
Across the square she tottered,
And face to face we stood.
She looked at me, and I spoke then
In quiet but mournful mood.
"Come home with me to my dwelling,
Thou art pale and ill, I think,
And there, with unceasing labor,
I will furnish thee meat and drink.
"And I will serve thee, and cherish
Thy children so wan and mild.
And thyself more dearly than any,
Thou poor, unhappy child.
"Nor will I vex thee by telling
The love that burns in my breast;
And I will weep when thou diest
Over thy place of rest."