The Dead Child
Sleep on, dear, now
   The last sleep and the best,
And on thy brow,
   And on thy quiet breast
Violets I throw.
Thy scanty years
   Were mine a little while;
Life had no fears
   To trouble thy brief smile
With toil or tears.
Lie still, and be
   For evermore a child!
Not grudgingly,
   Whom life has not defiled,
I render thee.
Slumber so deep,
   No man would rashly wake;
I hardly weep,
   Fain only, for thy sake,
To share thy sleep.
Yes, to be dead,
   Dead, here with thee to-day,
When all is said
   ’Twere good by thee to lay
My weary head.
The very best!
   Ah, child so tired of play,
I stand confessed:
   I want to come thy way,
And share thy rest.

Webpage © 2002 ELC
Lane Core Jr. (
Created November 13, 2002; not revised.