Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE DEAD SON, by KATHARINE TYNAN


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE DEAD SON, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: The boy was in the clay
Last Line: God comfort them that mourn!
Alternate Author Name(s): Hinkson, Katharine Tynan
Subject(s): Death - Children; Mourning; Death - Babies; Bereavement


THE boy was in the clay;
The mother was weeping still
From dawn to evening gray
When stars looked over the hill
Between the dawn and dark,
The night and day between,
About the stillest hour of mirk
O, who is this comes in?

He did not lift the latch,
He came without a sound,
He stood within a moonlit patch,
A space of holy ground.
His robe was to his feet,
All of the fair silk fine,
The golden curls were soft and sweet
That she was used to twine.

But on his hair of silk
There was a drift like rain,
His robe as white as milk
Did show a piteous stain.
"O mother, mother!" he said,
"Your tears have wet me through;
I am come from the blessèd dead
To try and comfort you."

"The other children play;
But when I would rejoice,
O mother, I hear from far away
The crying of your voice!
Your tears are heavy as lead;
I cannot run, nor leap:
O mother, mother, mother," he said,
"I pray you not to weep!"

The red cock and the black
Crew, and her lamb was gone;
She rose and set the window back
And welcomed in the dawn.
She swept the sanded floor,
And made the fire to burn,
With all her weeping done and o'er.
God comfort them that mourn!





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