Their memories living in her hands
Would warm that sleep of mine.

Her hands remember how they played
One time in meadow streams, --
And all the flickering song and shade
Of water took my dreams.

Swift through her haunted fingers pass
Memories of garden things; --
I dipped my face in flowers and grass
And sounds of hidden wings.

One time she touched the cloud that kissed
Brown pastures bleak and far; --
I leaned my cheek into a mist
And thought I was a star.

All this was very long ago
And I am grown; but yet
The hand that lured my slumber so
I never can forget.

For still when drowsiness comes on
It seems so soft and cool,
Shaped happily beneath my cheek,
Hollow and beautiful.