Oft o'er my brain does that strange fancy roll Which makes the present (while the flash doth last) Seem a mere semblance of some unknown past, Mixed with such feelings, as perplex the soul Self-questioned in her sleep; and some have said We lived, ere yet this robe of flesh we wore. O my sweet baby! when I reach my door, If heavy looks should tell me thou art dead, (As sometimes, through excess of hope, I fear) I think that I should struggle to believe Thou wert a spirit, to this nether sphere Sentenced for some more venial crime to grieve; Did'st scream, then spring to meet Heaven's quick reprieve, While we wept idly o'er thy little bier! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO MARY IN HEAVEN by ROBERT BURNS MARCHING (AS SEEN FROM THE LEFT FILE) by ISAAC ROSENBERG THE FAIRY KING by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM A SONG FOR MY FELLOWS by ALEXANDER ANDERSON HYMN OF FREEDDOM by MICHAEL JOSEPH BARRY PSALM 150 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE |