The moonbeams filter softly through
The leaves upon the linden tree;
And as I sit alone, dear heart,
My spirit yearns for thee!
Yet in some gracious-wise to-night
We do not seem far worlds apart;
I reach my empty arms and dream
I fold thee to my heart.
I close my brimming eyes, and see
The strange, sweet beauty of thy smile,
And fancy that our palms are met
In loving clasp the while.
In soft, clear tones, I seem to hear
The long-hushed voice I loved so well;
—I tremble, lest a breath should break
This moment’s happy spell!
O brother mine, could it be true
Thine own dear presence hovers near
To comfort with this heavenly peace
Thy little sister here?