Our murmuring babe to your bosom has clung,
And hears in his slumber the song that you sung;
I watch you asleep with your arms round him thrown,
Your links of dark tresses wound in with his own,
And the wife is as dear as the gentle young bride
Of the hour when you first, darling, came to my side.
Laura, my darling, our sail down the stream
Of Youth’s summers and winters has been like a dream;
Years have but rounded your womanly grace,
And added their spell to the light of your face;