Perfect little body, without fault or stain on thee, <br />With promise of strength and manhood full and fair! <br />Though cold and stark and bare, <br />The bloom and the charm of life doth awhile remain on thee. <br /> <br />Thy mother's treasure wert thou;—alas! no longer <br />To visit her heart with wondrous joy; to be <br />Thy father's pride:—ah, he <br />Must gather his faith together, and his strength make stronger. <br /> <br />To me, as I move thee now in the last duty, <br />Dost thou with a turn or gesture anon respond; <br />Startling my fancy fond <br />With a chance attitude of the head, a freak of beauty. <br /> <br />Thy hand clasps, as 'twas wont, my finger, and holds it: <br />But the grasp is the clasp of Death, heartbreaking and stiff; <br />Yet feels to my hand as if <br />'Twas still thy will, thy pleasure and trust that enfolds it. <br /> <br />So I lay thee there, thy sunken eyelids closing,— <br />Go lie thou there in thy coffin, thy last little bed!— <br />Propping thy wise, sad head, <br />Thy firm, pale hands across thy chest disposing. <br /> <br />So quiet! doth the change content thee?—Death, whither hath he taken thee? <br />To a world, do I think, that rights the disaster of this? <br />The vision of which I miss, <br />Who weep for the body, and wish but to warm thee and awaken thee? <br /> <br />Ah! little at best can all our hopes avail us <br />To lift this sorrow, or cheer us, when in the dark, <br />Unwilling, alone we embark, <br />And the things we have seen and have known and have heard of, fail us.<br /><br />Robert Seymour Bridges<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-a-dead-child/
