A REQUIEM
On reading some verses about a poor woman seen carrying the coffin of her infant in her arms to the burial.
So too, dead darlings of the past
By disappointed souls are borne
Beneath a sky not less forlorn,
Across as desolate a waste.
By disappointed souls are borne
Beneath a sky not less forlorn,
Across as desolate a waste.
To no triumphant requiem,
Some love or faith or fancy-crown
Of genius we at last lay down,
And in deep silence bury them.
Some love or faith or fancy-crown
Of genius we at last lay down,
And in deep silence bury them.
Perhaps for years we watched them die,
Perhaps they died before we knew;
Perhaps a violet or two
May yet spring up from where they lie.
Perhaps they died before we knew;
Perhaps a violet or two
May yet spring up from where they lie.
Ah! some have laid their dead in earth
Where gardens redden o'er with bloom,
To flower from many a magic tomb
Into some new and lovelier birth.
Where gardens redden o'er with bloom,
To flower from many a magic tomb
Into some new and lovelier birth.
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