THE DEAD CHILD.

Life to her was a perfect flower,

And every petal a jeweled hour,

Till all at once--we know not why--

God sent a frost from His clear blue sky.

Life to her was a fairy rune;

Her light feet tripped to the lilting tune,

Till all at once--we know not why--

God stopped th' enchanting melody.

Life to her was a picture book

That her glad eyes searched with eager look

Till all at once--we know not why--

God put the wondrous volume by.

Pan and Æolus: Poems · 第 95 / 98 题