Page:Roden Noel - A Little Child's Monument - 1881.pdf/69



I bending o'er my treasured infant, O'er his infernal bed of pain; All my spirit cloven to its foundations, Echoing his cries again, They went crashing through my brain. Till there came a hollow, hollow knocking At my darling's lowly chamber door, And my tortured heart sank fainting in me, For I knew who stood before. Then I beheld a dumb and dreadful Presence, Shrouded in long rigid folds of grey, Never daring to unveil its awful visage Before the blessed day. I, confronting, barred the lowly entrance; Yea, I flung my bleeding soul athwart. I swore, "Thy touch shall ne'er pollute my holy one Till thou tread upon my heart! Swift-souled he is, and pure, and fair, and happy, All his life yet pausing in the bud; He is mine eyes, the pulse of all my being,