Death of an Infant

Death found strange beauty on that polish'd brow,And dash'd it out. There was a tint of roseOn cheek and lip. He touched the veins with ice,And the rose faded. Forth from those blue eyesThere spake a wishful tenderness, a doubtWhether to grieve or sleep, which innocenceAlone may wear. With ruthless haste he boundThe silken fringes of those curtaining lidsFor ever. There had been a murmuring sound,With which the babe would claim its mother's ear,Charming her even to tears. The spoiler setThe seal of silence. But there beam'd a smile,So fix'd, so holy, from that cherub brow,Death gazed, and left it there. He dar'd not stealThe signet-ring of heaven.