A Phantom

Little baby, you have wandered far away, And your fairy face comes back to me to-day, But I can not feel the strands Of your tresses, nor the play Of the dainty velvet-touches of your hands.

Little baby, you were mine to hug and hold; Now your arms cling not about me as of old-- O my dream of rest come true, And my richer wealth than gold, And the surest hope of Heaven that I knew!

O for the lisp long silent, and the tone Of merriment once mingled with my own-- For the laughter of your lips, And the kisses plucked and thrown In the lavish wastings of your finger-tips!

Little baby, O as then, come back to me, And be again just as you used to be, For this phantom of you stands All too cold and silently, And will not kiss nor touch me with its hands.