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?