 | Hours at Naples, and Other Poems |  |
DEATH AND INFANCY.
My Baby-brother!—'tis long, long ago
That I saw—bitter sight of dreariest woe—
Thy little form of pale beauty laid
In Death, and in funeral robe arrayed!
That I saw—bitter sight of dreariest woe—
Thy little form of pale beauty laid
In Death, and in funeral robe arrayed!
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I gazed on thee—sweet one!—so pale and chill,
Oh! breathlessly Beauteous—but Beauteous still,
And whispered thy name in thy senseless ear,
I whispered, yet knew that thou couldst not hear!
Oh! breathlessly Beauteous—but Beauteous still,
And whispered thy name in thy senseless ear,
I whispered, yet knew that thou couldst not hear!
I kissed those sweet lips that poured no breath,
Nor shrank from that contact with awful Death;
Thy pale little pulseless hand I took,—
Still mine own young nerves neither shrank nor shook.
Nor shrank from that contact with awful Death;
Thy pale little pulseless hand I took,—
Still mine own young nerves neither shrank nor shook.
Oh, Death! though then I first looked on thee,
Thou worest a Heavenly mien to me—
Nor fear chained my pulse, nor checked my breath,
Tho' then 'twas I looked on thee first, O Death.
Thou worest a Heavenly mien to me—
Nor fear chained my pulse, nor checked my breath,
Tho' then 'twas I looked on thee first, O Death.
My childish sorrow 'twas most I felt,
As close by the coffin I weeping knelt;
And thought 'twas the darkest and deadliest doom
Thus soon to be borne to the dull deep tomb!
As close by the coffin I weeping knelt;
And thought 'twas the darkest and deadliest doom
Thus soon to be borne to the dull deep tomb!
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And I trembled not, then though I sorrowed much,
Nor shrank, O Death! from thy sight or touch;
And still the heart in my bosom cried,
“Oh! Child!—sweet Child!—would for thee I had died.”
Nor shrank, O Death! from thy sight or touch;
And still the heart in my bosom cried,
“Oh! Child!—sweet Child!—would for thee I had died.”
The Beauty thy lifeless aspect bore
Made my Love yet deeper, my Sorrow more;
And still I thought 'twas the heaviest doom
To be borne thus soon to the Grave's dull gloom!
Made my Love yet deeper, my Sorrow more;
And still I thought 'twas the heaviest doom
To be borne thus soon to the Grave's dull gloom!
My Baby-brother—now things I know
That may let me think no longer so—
The World I thought then a World of Light,
I have found a World but of Death and Night!
That may let me think no longer so—
The World I thought then a World of Light,
I have found a World but of Death and Night!
I sorrowed for thee—for thee I mourned—
While the tears down my cheek fast flowing burned—
Oh! had I known, all that now I know,
For myself I had wept with a wiser woe!
While the tears down my cheek fast flowing burned—
Oh! had I known, all that now I know,
For myself I had wept with a wiser woe!
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My Baby-brother—to thee was given
A cloudless Earth and an early Heaven;
To me—my Baby-brother!—to me—
All that hath taught me to envy thee!
A cloudless Earth and an early Heaven;
To me—my Baby-brother!—to me—
All that hath taught me to envy thee!
| Hours at Naples, and Other Poems | |