These treasures I loved so dear,
And when the household is still in sleep,
And the breath of slumber I hear,
I take those curls from their little nest
And live o’er the past again;
And hug them close to my aching breast,
To smother a strange, sad pain.
Yes, new curls may grow again, but oh,
They never will be like these!
For time is passing, and babies grow,