Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE BURIED CHILD, by DOROTHY WELLESLEY



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THE BURIED CHILD, by            
First Line: He is not dead, nor liveth
Last Line: To his mother saith.
Alternate Author Name(s): Wellington, Duchess Of
Subject(s): Death - Children; Death - Babies


He is not dead, nor liveth
The little child in the grave;
And men have known for ever
That he walketh again:
They hear him November evenings,
When acorns fall with the rain.

Deep in the hearts of men
Within his tomb he lieth,
And when the heart is desolate
He desolate sigheth.

Teach me, then, the heart of the dead child,
Who, holding a tulip, goeth
Up the stairs in his little grave-shift,
Sitting down in his little chair
By his biscuit and orange,
In the nursery he knoweth.

Teach me all that the child, who knew life
And the quiet of death,
To the croon of the cradle-song
By his brother's crib,
In the deeps of the nursery dusk
To his mother saith.





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