 | A Selection from the Works of Frederick Locker |  |
64
A WISH.
To the south of the church, and beneath yonder yew,
A pair of child-lovers I've seen;
More than once were they there, and the years of the two,
When added, might number thirteen.
A pair of child-lovers I've seen;
More than once were they there, and the years of the two,
When added, might number thirteen.
They sat on the grave that has never a stone
The name of the dead to determine,
It was Life paying Death a brief visit—alone
A notable text for a sermon.
The name of the dead to determine,
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A notable text for a sermon.
They tenderly prattled; what was it they said?
The turf on that hillock was new;
Dear Little Ones, did ye know aught of the Dead,
Or could he be heedful of you?
The turf on that hillock was new;
Dear Little Ones, did ye know aught of the Dead,
Or could he be heedful of you?
I wish to believe, and believe it I must,
Her father beneath them was laid:
I wish to believe,—I will take it on trust,
That father knew all that they said.
Her father beneath them was laid:
I wish to believe,—I will take it on trust,
That father knew all that they said.
My own, you are five, very nearly the age
Of that poor little fatherless child:
And some day a true-love your heart will engage,
When on earth I my last may have smiled.
Of that poor little fatherless child:
And some day a true-love your heart will engage,
When on earth I my last may have smiled.
Then visit my grave, like a good little lass,
Where'er it may happen to be,
And if any daisies should peer through the grass,
Be sure they are kisses from me.
Where'er it may happen to be,
And if any daisies should peer through the grass,
Be sure they are kisses from me.
And place not a stone to distinguish my name,
For strangers to see and discuss:
But come with your lover, as these lovers came,
And talk to him sweetly of us.
For strangers to see and discuss:
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And talk to him sweetly of us.
And while you are smiling, your father will smile
Such a dear little daughter to have,
But mind,—O yes, mind you are happy the while—
I wish you to visit my Grave.
Such a dear little daughter to have,
But mind,—O yes, mind you are happy the while—
I wish you to visit my Grave.
| A Selection from the Works of Frederick Locker | |