 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
DEATH IN CHILDBIRTH.
Sweet Martyr of thine Infant and thy Love,O what a death is thine!
Is this to die? Then, Love, henceforth approve
This, this of all thy gifts the most divine!
Grave she needs not: Matrons, cover
Her white bed with flowers all over;
With the dark, cool violets swathing
A full bosom mother-hearted;
Under lily shadows bathing
Brows whose anguish hath departed.
213
Plays a grave game smilingly—
O Death not Death! through worlds of bliss
The happy new-born Soul is straying!
O Death not Death! thy Babe in this,
An Angel on the earth, is playing!
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |