  The moonbeams filter softly through The leaves upon the linden tree; And as I sit alone, dear heart, My spirit yearns for thee! Yet in some gracious-wise to-night We do not seem far worlds apart; I reach my empty arms and dream I fold thee to my heart. I close my brimming eyes, and see The strange, sweet beauty of thy smile, And fancy that our palms are met In loving clasp the while. In soft, clear tones, I seem to hear The long-hushed voice I loved so well; —I tremble, lest a breath should break This moment’s happy spell! O brother mine, could it be true Thine own dear presence hovers near To comfort with this heavenly peace Thy little sister here?
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