 | Poems in many lands |  |
73
THE SONG OF THE DEAD CHILD.
FLORENCE, '81.
By the light of their waxen tapers, I saw not ever a tear,
For the child in its bridal garment, the little dead child on the bier.
For the child in its bridal garment, the little dead child on the bier.
Some child of the poor;—I wonder, was it glad that the years were done,
This flower that fell in spring tide, and had hardly looked on the sun?
This flower that fell in spring tide, and had hardly looked on the sun?
They have decked her in burial raiment, they have twined a wreath for her hair;
Ah child, you had never in life such delicate dress to wear!
Ah child, you had never in life such delicate dress to wear!
And the man in the pilgrim's habit has covered the marble head,
And carried it out for ever to the sleeping place of the dead.
And carried it out for ever to the sleeping place of the dead.
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Rest, little one, have no fear, you will hardly turn in your sleep,
Though the moon and the stars are clouded, and the grave they have made be deep!
Though the moon and the stars are clouded, and the grave they have made be deep!
But an hour before the dawning there will come one down on the night,
With the wings and the brows of an angel, in wonder-robes of white.
With the wings and the brows of an angel, in wonder-robes of white.
He will smile in your eyes of wonder, he will take your hand in his hand,
And gather you up in his arms and pass from the sleeping land.
And gather you up in his arms and pass from the sleeping land.
Then after a while, at morning, you will come to the lands that lie
On the other side of the sunrise between the cloud and the sky,
On the other side of the sunrise between the cloud and the sky,
And here is the place of resting with the wings of your angel furled,
For the feet that are tired with travel in the dusty ways of the world.
For the feet that are tired with travel in the dusty ways of the world.
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And here is the children's meeting, the length of a summer's day,
You will gather you crowns of roses, in the deep meadow lands at play.
You will gather you crowns of roses, in the deep meadow lands at play.
While up through the clouds dividing, like a sweet bewildering dream,
You will watch the wings of the angels drift by in an endless stream;
You will watch the wings of the angels drift by in an endless stream;
Such marvellous robes are o'er them, and whiter are some than snows,
And some like the April blossom, and some like the pale primrose.
And some like the April blossom, and some like the pale primrose.
For these are the hues of day-dawn that you saw from the world of old,
And the first light over the mountains was shed from their crowns of gold;
And the first light over the mountains was shed from their crowns of gold;
And many go by with weeping, for ever, the long night through,
The tears of the sorrowing angels fall over the earth in dew;
The tears of the sorrowing angels fall over the earth in dew;
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Till your eyes grow weary of wonder as you sit in the long cool grass,
And many will bend and kiss you of the wonderful forms that pass;
And many will bend and kiss you of the wonderful forms that pass;
With your head on the breast of the angel there will steal down over your eyes
The sleep of the long forgetting, and the dream where memory dies,
The sleep of the long forgetting, and the dream where memory dies,
As the flowers are washed in the night-time, when the dew drops down from above,
You will reck no more of the winter, and hunger, and want of love.
You will reck no more of the winter, and hunger, and want of love.
Then at last it will seem like even when you waken, and hand in hand
You will pass with your angels guiding, to the utmost verge of the land;
You will pass with your angels guiding, to the utmost verge of the land;
And I think you will hear far voices growing musical there, and loud,
As you pass, with an unfelt swiftness, from luminous cloud to cloud;
As you pass, with an unfelt swiftness, from luminous cloud to cloud;
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Till the light shall turn to a glory, that seemed but a lone faint star,
That will be the gate of Heaven, where the souls of the children are.
That will be the gate of Heaven, where the souls of the children are.
| Poems in many lands | |