Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, TO THE MEMORY OF A FAVOURITE CHILD; THE DAUGHTER OF A FRIEND, by LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

TO THE MEMORY OF A FAVOURITE CHILD; THE DAUGHTER OF A FRIEND, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Her voice is on the haunted air
Last Line: An altar for my prayers and tears.
Alternate Author Name(s): L. E. L.; Maclean, Letitia
Subject(s): Death - Children; Death - Babies


HER voice is on the haunted air.
Her face is in the scene;
To me there is no other trace
But where her steps have been.
Not with the passionate despair
With which I turned from Heaven,
And asked how could it take again
The treasure it had given;
Not with that earlier wild despair,
Now gaze I upon earth and air.

A meeker sorrow now subdues
The soul that looks above,
Soothed by the sanctity that dwells
Around departed love.
I do not grieve as once I grieved,
When by thy funeral stone
I flung me in my first despair,
And knew I was alone.
Gradual thy God has given me
To know this world was not for thee.

Thy angel-nature was not made
For struggle or for care;
Thou wert too gentle and too good
For Heaven long to spare.
Thou wert but sent a little while
To soothe and to sustain;
The angels missed thee from their band
And asked for thee again:
But not till thou hadst given birth
To many a holy thought on earth.

Thy influence is with me still
My own beloved child;
For thy sake hath my spirit grown
Calm -- hopeful -- strong, yet mild.
I look to heaven as to thy home,
And feel that there must be --
So deep the tie that draws me there --
Some lowly place for me.
The faith that springeth from the tomb
Nor mortal fears nor doubts consume.

I think upon thy early years
Not as I used to think,
With bitterness and vain regret,
And hopes that sprang to shrink,
But with a solemn fond belief
That we shall meet again:
Thy piety -- thy sweet content --
Could never be in vain;
Taken alike wert thou, and given,
To win thy kindred unto heaven.

It was the lovely autumn time
When hither thou wert brought;
Not for the lovely scenes around,
But for thy health we sought.
For there was in thy large blue eyes
Too beautiful a light,
And on thy young transparent cheek
The rose was over-bright;
And the clear temples showed too plain
The branching of each azure vein.

Too soon we saw it was in vain
That we had brought thee here:
For every day thou wert more weak,
And every day more dear.
Thy hand -- how white and small that hand!
Could scarcely hold the flowers
Which yet were brought thee, with the dew
Of early morning hours.
I seem to look upon them now
Yet, where are they? -- and where art thou? --

Where art thou? -- if I dare to ask,
'Tis more with hope than fear;
In every high and tender thought
I seem to feel thee near.
I gaze upon the silent stars,
While lone and still they shine,
As each one were a spirit's home,
And ask, Which home is thine?
I feel as if thy tranquil eyes
Were watching earth from yonder skies.

God bless thee! my beloved child,
As thou hast blessed me;
Faith, hope, and love, beyond the grave
Have been thy gifts to me.
For thy sake dare I look above,
For thy sake wait below,
Trusting with humble confidence,
And patient in my woe.
To me thy early grave appears
An altar for my prayers and tears.





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net