Arthur Quiller-Couch, comp. The Oxford Book of Victorian Verse. 1922.
Graves of InfantsJohn Clare (17931864)
I
Earth’s brightest gems of innocence repose.
God is their parent, so they need no tear;
He takes them to his bosom from earth’s woes—
A bud their lifetime and a flower their close.
Their spirits are the Iris of the skies,
Needing no prayer; a sunset’s happy close.
Gone are the bright rays of their soft blue eyes;
Flow’rs weep in dew-drops o’er them, and the gale gently sighs.
Melting on flowers as tears melt from the eye.
Each death
Was toll’d on flowers as summer gales went by:
They bow’d and trembled, yet they heaved no sigh;
And the sun smiled to show the end was well.
Infants have naught to weep for ere they die,
All prayers are needless, beads they need not tell;
White flowers their mourners are, Nature their passing bell.