Softly I stoop those lips to kiss,
That oft have thrilled with rapturous love,
But they are cold and motionless,
No power again can make them move.
The last farewell caress is o’er,
E’en that cold touch is now denied;
A grief, like waves on barren shore,
Sweeps over me, an endless tide.
And so the bereaved one gives way to his sad thoughts and recognizes the fact that he must struggle on alone. But while his tearless eyes with madness shine he feels the arms of his baby child stealing round his neck and the baby lips laid against his own.
My bonds are loosed; I press the child