Here lyeth our infant, Alice Rodd; She were so small, Scarce aught at all, But a mere breath of Sweetness sent from God. Sore we did weepe; our heartes on sorrow set. Till on our knees God sent us ease; And now we weepe no more than we forget. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UP AT A VILLA - DOWN IN THE CITY by ROBERT BROWNING WASTED HOURS by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES TWO FUSILIERS by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES THE FOURTH OF JULY by JOHN PIERPONT PARAPHRASE ON THOMAS A KEMPIS by ALEXANDER POPE DAFFODILS by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE KITTEN AND THE FALLING LEAVES by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE HOUSE-WARMING; A LEGEND OF BLEEDING-HEART YARD by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM |