ON A DEAD CHILD
by: Richard Middleton
- AN proposes,
God in His time disposes,
- And so I wander'd up to where you lay,
- A little rose among the little roses,
- And no more dead than they.
-
- It seemed your childish feet were tired of straying,
- You did not greet me from your flower-strewn bed,
- Yet still I knew that you were only playing--
- Playing at being dead.
-
- I might have thought that you were really sleeping,
- So quiet lay your eyelids to the sky,
- So still your hair, but surely you were peeping;
- And so I did not cry.
-
- God knows, and in His proper time disposes,
- And so I smiled and gently called your name,
- Added my rose to your sweet heap of roses,
- And left you to your game.
'On a Dead Child' is reprinted from
An Anthology of Modern Verse. Ed. A. Methuen. London:
Methuen & Co., 1921. |
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