Page:Roden Noel - A Little Child's Monument - 1881.pdf/116

 Him to feel and hear and see, Who cannot wholly perished be! Somewhen, somewhere, the wan stem of endeavour Shall flower in vision, radiant for ever! Ah! may I not thy semblance find In the low light, or the low wind? Do I not yearn to clasp thy ghost, My own beloved, O my lost? Thee, thee, thee only do I want, The very little child was mine; Refuse me him for whom I pant, God, Virtue, Heaven, I resign! And surely in the dim pinewood, Or in the garden where he leapt, In the enchanted solitude Under the window where he slept, If anywhere within the bound Of worldwide being he hath breath, Is it not here he may be found, Loosed from the monster fold of Death, Safe from the hunger of dim Death? Under the window where he slept, Or in the day-time danced and sang With his boy brother, where we wept Hot tears of blood for his death-pang, His long, long pain! and where he lay, White lilies o'er him, the king-lily, Moonpale and cold, who was the day,