 | My Mind and its Thoughts, in Sketches, Fragments, and Essays |  |
MEMENTO,
FOR MY INFANT, WHO LIVED BUT EIGHTEEN HOURS:
As the pure snow-drop, child of April tears,
Shook by the rough wind's desolating breath—
Scarce o'er the chilly sod its low head rears,
And trembling dies upon the parent heath.
Shook by the rough wind's desolating breath—
Scarce o'er the chilly sod its low head rears,
And trembling dies upon the parent heath.
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So my lost boy, arrayed in fancy's charms,
Just born to mourn—with premature decay
To the cold tyrant stretched his feeble arms,
And struggling sighed his little life away.
Just born to mourn—with premature decay
To the cold tyrant stretched his feeble arms,
And struggling sighed his little life away.
As not in vain the early snow-drop rose,
Though short its date, and hard the withering gale;
Since its pale bloom ethereal balm bestows,
And cheers with vernal hope the wasted vale.
Though short its date, and hard the withering gale;
Since its pale bloom ethereal balm bestows,
And cheers with vernal hope the wasted vale.
My perished child, dear pledge of many a pain!
Torn from this ruffian world, in yon bright sphere,
Joins with awakened voice the cherub train,
And pours his sweet breath on a mother's ear.
Torn from this ruffian world, in yon bright sphere,
Joins with awakened voice the cherub train,
And pours his sweet breath on a mother's ear.
Kind dreams of morn his fairy phantom bring,
And floating tones of extasy impart,
Soft as when Seraphs strike the heavenly string
To charm the settled sorrow of the heart.
And floating tones of extasy impart,
Soft as when Seraphs strike the heavenly string
To charm the settled sorrow of the heart.
| My Mind and its Thoughts, in Sketches, Fragments, and Essays | |