Mourning for Herbert, in your empty room,
What if the darling of your fondest care
Scarce woke from his brief dream and went to Heaven?
—Our dream is longer, but 'tis mixed with tears.
For we are dreamers all, and only those
Fully awake, who dwell where naught deceives.
So, when time's vision o'er, you reach the land
Which hath no need of sun, or waning moon
To give it light, how sweet to hear your child
Bid you "good morning" with his cherub tongue.