Of late I had often recalled this saying and this incident; for during the past week scarcely a night had gone over my couch that had not brought with it a dream of an infant, which I sometimes hushed in my arms, sometimes dandled on my knee, sometimes watched playing with daisies on a lawn, or again, dabbling its hands in running water.
Ahora yo llevaba una semana soñando constantemente con un niño a quien tenía en brazos o sobre las rodillas, o cuyos juegos vigilaba en un prado. Unas veces era un niño triste y otras riente; ora se refugiaba en mi regazo; ora huía de mi lado.