Not, not for thee, <br />Belovèd child, the burning grasp of life <br />Shall bruise the tender soul. The noise, and strife, <br />And clamor of midday thou shalt not see; <br />But wrapped for ever in thy quiet grave, <br />Too little to have known the earthly lot, <br />Time's clashing hosts above thine innocent head, <br />Wave upon wave, <br />Shall break, or pass as with an army's tread, <br />And harm thee not. <br /> <br />A few short years <br />We of the living flesh and restless brain <br />Shall plumb the deeps of life and know the strain, <br />The fleeting gleams of joy, the fruitless tears; <br />And then at last when all is touched and tried, <br />Our own immutable night shall fall, and deep <br />In the same silent plot, O little friend, <br />Side by thy side, <br />In peace that changeth not, nor knoweth end, <br />We too shall sleep.<br /><br />Archibald Lampman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/we-too-shall-sleep/
