The Child Asleep Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Sweet babe! true portrait of thy father's face,
       &nbsp Sleep on the bosom that thy lips have pressed!
Sleep, little one; and closely, gently place
       &nbsp Thy drowsy eyelid on thy mother's breast.
Upon that tender eye, my little friend,
       &nbsp Soft sleep shall come, that cometh not to me!
I watch to see thee, nourish thee, defend;
       &nbsp 'T is sweet to watch for thee, alone for thee!
His arms fall down; sleep sits upon his brow;
       &nbsp His eye is closed; he sleeps, nor dreams of harm.
Wore not his cheek the apple's ruddy glow,
       &nbsp Would you not say he slept on Death's cold arm?


Awake, my boy! I tremble with affright!
       &nbsp Awake, and chase this fatal thought! Unclose
Thine eye but for one moment on the light!
       &nbsp Even at the price of thine, give me repose!
Sweet error! he but slept, I breathe again;
       &nbsp Come, gentle dreams, the hour of sleep beguile!
O, when shall he, for whom I sigh in vain,
       &nbsp Beside me watch to see thy waking smile?