I see their faces Children I played with when I was a child Loise comes back with her brown hair braided Annie with ringlets warm and wild Only in sleep time is forgotten— What may have come to them , who can know? Yet we played last night as long ago, And the doll-house stood at the turn of the stair The years had not sharpened their smooth Round face, I met their eyes and found them mild- Do they too, dream of me, I wonder And for them am I too a child?