He stays with us, and peers about.

He sees that portrait on the wall

(Still hanging in the same old place);

He turns about before us all,

And says, “That is a lovely face.”

His mother rises up to see;

His father smiles, and looks at me.

“It ought to be restored,” says he,

“It’s piteous how these beauties fade”

(Ah, the old dream is safe with me).