Dead

Where the child's joy-carol
Rang sweeter than the spheres,
There, centre of deep silence,
Darkness, and tears.
On his bed
The child lay dead.

There a man sat stolid,
Stupefied and cold.
Save when the lamp's flicker
To poor love told
Some mocking lie
Of quivering eye,
Or lip that said,
"Zr<f is not dead."

Weary Night went weeping,
Moaning long and low,
Till dim Dawn, awaking,
Found them so —
The heart that bled,
And his dim dead.

'* Measure him for his coffin,'
He heard a stranger say ;
And then he broke to laughing,
" God ! vteasitre my poor clay.
And shut me in my coffin,
A soul gone grey!
For hope lies dead,
Life is fled."