On a Dead Babe

Fly away! thou heavenly one!--
I do hail thee on thy flight!
Sorrow? thou hath tasted none--
Perfect joy is yourn by right.
Fly away! and bear our love
To thy kith and kin above!

I can tetch thy finger-tips
Ca'mly, and bresh back the hair
From thy forr'ed with my lips,
And not leave a teardrop thare.--
Weep fer Tomps and Ruth--and me--
But I can not weep fer thee.