 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
DIRGE OF AN INFANT.
Cold on the bier he lies—
Light from his azure eyes
Early hath fled:
Tinged like the sky of morn,
Sweet roses, newly born,
Pillow his head.
Light from his azure eyes
Early hath fled:
Tinged like the sky of morn,
Sweet roses, newly born,
Pillow his head.
Ah! the refreshing air
With his bright silken hair
Playeth in vain;
Never, in rosy rest,
Will a maternal breast
Shield him again.
With his bright silken hair
Playeth in vain;
Never, in rosy rest,
Will a maternal breast
Shield him again.
Soft wind, or sunny ray
Warmth to that frame of clay
Cannot restore;
There he lies coldly sweet—
His little heart will beat
Wildly no more.
Warmth to that frame of clay
Cannot restore;
There he lies coldly sweet—
His little heart will beat
Wildly no more.
Hush! should the heart be wrung
When the beloved and young
Blossom-like die?
When souls from human strife
And the mad war of life
Heavenward fly?
When the beloved and young
Blossom-like die?
When souls from human strife
And the mad war of life
Heavenward fly?
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |