Page:Poems Eaton.djvu/52

GRAVES.

SAD is the grave where the lone infant sleeps,
 Wrapt in soft grasses, or radiant with flowers,
Where tearful, the grief-stricken mother still keeps
 The vigil unceasing through wearisome hours—
Sad, for the little mound tells of a hope,
 That was blasted ere its full growth was attained,
Of a love, bleeding, wounded by dregs from the cup,
 Which, pressed to the lips, must ever be drained.
But sadder 'twould be, for that mother to weep
 O'er the infant matured, by sin denied,
And darker the grave, in the heart dug deep,
 By the "serpent tooth" of the "thankless child."

White gleams the marble, marking the place,
 Where the rich and honored of earth are at rest,
Close beside, sleep the poor of the self-same race,
 Whom pitying nature receives to her breast—
The earth with graves is so thickly o'erspread,
 So numberless mounds our vision meet,
That we almost fear to harm the dead
 With the echoing tread of our restless feet.
But deeper and sadder the grave closing round
 All hope of reform for the living dead,
And colder the heart which utters no sound,
 Entombed in the darkness of trust betrayed.