Classic and Contemporary Poetry
ON THE DEATH OF A HIGHLY GIFTED AND PRECOCIOUS CHILD, by JANET HAMILTON Poet's Biography First Line: Too fair, too pale, too pure and wise Last Line: Heaven took what it had lent. Alternate Author Name(s): Hamilton, Janet Thompson Subject(s): Death - Children; Death - Babies | ||||||||
Too fair, too pale, too pure and wise For earth, she early sought the skies; Her fair broad brow and hazel eyes, Instinct with genius, ever rise On Memory's mournful eye. Oh! gifted child of love and song, Could prayers and tears thy stay prolong, How had they flowed! The angel throng Bore on their wings, with joy and song, Our darling to the sky. Fair star! at thy terrestrial birth I hailed thee watched thy course on earth; Grave were thy joys, and quiet thy mirth The radiant orb, soon lost to earth, Is shining high in heaven. Thy earthly home a rural cot With roses draped, with many a plot Of flowersearth holds no lovelier spot All, all remains, but thou art not, For thou wert lent, not given. The roses of two summers shed Their fragrant petals on her head, When on the green and daisied bed, With wilding flowers and toys bespread, The child was set to play. A silver birch lean'd o'er the ground, And there dear Dora I have found, A long soft band her waist enwound, And to the tender sapling bound, That so she might not stray. And there for hours each summer day, The hermit babe would sing and play Alone with Nature, pleased and gay, For strangers seldom came that way, And playmates she had none. Oft to her father's knee she went When he would read, with ear intent And speaking eye, where thought was blent With feeling deep, that found a vent When she was all alone. Like warbling linnet's song would flow Her silver tones, soft, sweet and low; All beauteous things she seemed to know Her sobs would rise, her tears would flow At piteous song or tale. How pale, how spiritual and sweet The smiling face that wont to greet Me through the pane, then run to meet, And fill my hand with cowslips sweet, And lilies of the vale! Then to her own dear flow'ry nook, Beneath the birch, our way we took; Some favourite poem from the book She heldwould read with sparkling look, And curious, quaint comment. Six summers had their roses shed Upon the infant poet's head, When on her white and death-cold bed A withered rose lay Doradead: Heaven took what it had lent. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LOST CHILDREN by RANDALL JARRELL THE MOURNER by LOUISE MOREY BOWMAN MELANCHOLY; AN ODE by WILLIAM BROOME SISTERS IN ARMS by AUDRE LORDE A BOTANICAL TROPE by WILLIAM MEREDITH FOR MOHAMMED ZEID OF GAZA, AGE 15 by NAOMI SHIHAB NYE A BALLAD FOUNDED ON A REAL INCIDENT WHICH OCCURED IN HIGH LIFE by JANET HAMILTON |
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