I linger by this grass-grown mound, And read the words, "Our Baby Dear" Carved on a mossy stone, lamb-crowned, And think till this is clear: In yon manse-garden where she grew— Like some rare flower—one April morn Across the walks a cold wind blew That left the place forlorn. Though kin of hers have far pursued The stars of Hope that westward roam, Oft by this grave they since have stood, For Mem'ry calls them home. As 'neath those trees they see her run, Or catch her laughter 'cross the years, Or see her curls' glint in the sun, Their golden past appears. Thou dear, dead child, some day I'll show My little girl-friends where you sleep; Then on your breast sweet flowers shall blow, And Love this plot shall keep. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FIRE OF DRIFTWOOD; DEVEREUX FARM, NEAR MARBLEHEAD by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 27 by ALFRED TENNYSON THE UNQUIET EYE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN IN VINCULIS; SONNETS WRITTEN IN AN IRISH PRISON: MITIGATIONS by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE WANDERER: 2. IN FRANCE: AU CAFE *** by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON THE FALLEN by JOHN VANCE CHENEY ADDRESSED TO MISS MACARTNEY, AFTERWARDS MRS. GREVILLE by WILLIAM COWPER THE BOROUGH: LETTER 20. POOR OF THE BOROUGH. ELLEN ORFORD by GEORGE CRABBE |