 | Twenty-two sonnets |  |
7
On the Death of a Child
Night veils not with a cloud the stars on high,From care reposeth every creature now,
Unstirred each flower and motionless each bough,
Now wrapp'd in slumber ocean, earth, and sky.
Lone mother sable clad, with weeping eye,
With hair dishevell'd and uplifted brow,
By death bereaved unceasingly dost thou
O'er thy lost child in bitter anguish sigh.
Lady, that star to which thy fixed eyes cling,
That mystic brightness which absorbs thy gaze,
It is thy child—a star in Paradise;
It is thy child who on angelic wing
The air thou breathest to thy lip conveys;
A sigh from him which to thine own replies.
| Twenty-two sonnets | |