Author: Victor James Daley

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    All silent is the room,
    There is no stir of breath,
    Save mine, as in the gloom
    I sit alone with Death.

    Short life it had, the sweet,
    Small babe here lying dead,
    With tapers at its feet
    And tapers at its head.

    Dear little hands, too frail
    Their grasp on life to hold;
    Dear little mouth so pale,
    So solemn, and so cold;

    Small feet that nevermore
    About the house shall run;
    Thy little life is oer!
    Thy little journey done!

    Sweet infant, dead too soon,
    Thou shalt no more behold
    The face of sun or moon,
    Or starlight clear and cold;

    Nor know, where thou art gone,
    The mournfulness and mirth
    We know who dwell upon
    This sad, glad, mad, old earth.

    The foolish hopes and fond
    That cheat us to the last
    Thou shalt not feel; beyond
    All these things thou hast passed.

    The struggles that upraise
    The soul by slow degrees
    To God, through weary days,
    Thou hast no part in these.

    And at thy childish play
    Shall we, O little one,
    No more behold thee? Nay,
    No more beneath the sun.

    Deaths sword may well be bared
    Gainst those grown old in strife,
    But, ah! it might have spared
    Thy little unlived life.

    Why talk as in despair?
    Just God, whose rod I kiss,
    Did not make thee so fair
    To end thy life at this.

    There is some pleasant shore,
    Far from His Heaven of Pride,
    Where those strong souls who bore
    His Cross in bliss abide.

    Some place where feeble things,
    For Lifes long war too weak,
    Young birds with unfledged wings,
    Buds nipped by storm-winds bleak,

    Young lambs left all forlorn
    Beneath a bitter sky,
    Meek souls to sorrow born,
    Find refuge when they die.

    There day is one long dawn,
    And from the cups of flowers
    Light dew-filled clouds updrawn
    Rain soft and perfumed showers.

    Child Jesus walketh there
    Amidst child-angel bands,
    With smiling lips, and fair
    White roses in His hands.

    I kiss thee on the brow,
    I kiss thee on the eyes,
    Farewell! Thy home is now
    The Childrens Paradise.

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Type of Poem: Elegy

Date Written:

Date Published:

Language: English

Keywords: Public Domain

Source: Public Domain Collection

Publisher:

Rights/Permissions: Public Domain

Comments/Notes: This poignant, emotive poem delves into the themes of grief, mortality, and the concept of an afterlife. The speaker's solitary confrontation with death, specifically the death of a young child, drives the narrative and sets a melancholy tone. The poem's structure is consistent, employing a rhythmic pattern that lends a solemn, almost hymn-like quality to the piece, enhancing the themes of death and spirituality.

The poet uses powerful imagery and metaphor throughout. The 'tapers at its feet and tapers at its head' evoke a funeral scene, underscoring the gravity of loss. The 'dear little hands...so solemn, and so cold' further illustrate the child's fragility and the tragedy of premature death. Moreover, the poem's language shifts in the second half, transitioning from despair towards a hopeful vision of an afterlife, a 'Children's Paradise' where 'Child Jesus walketh'. This shift is significant, representing the speaker's journey from grief towards acceptance and belief in a divine plan.

Notably, the poem includes a critique of life's struggles, describing them as 'foolish hopes and fond' which 'cheat us to the last'. This perspective presents an intriguing contrast to the comforting depiction of the afterlife. The poem, therefore, explores the dichotomy of suffering in life and peace in death, particularly for 'feeble things...Young birds with unfledged wings' - a metaphor for the innocence and fragility of the child.

Overall, the poem is a profound exploration of loss, grief, and spiritual faith, weaving a narrative that is both tragic and comforting. Its rich imagery, consistent structure, and emotive language combine to create a piece that is deeply affecting.