There the murmuring streamlet flowing
Scattered radiant pearls around,
Pure and clear, like crystal glowing--
But it was a dream, unsound.
And my mother's mournful singing
Took me back to childhood's day,
To my mind her kisses bringing--
’Twas a dream and passed away!
To her heart she pressed me yearning,
Wiped her eyes which wet did seem;
And her tears fell on me burning--
Why should it have been a dream?