Epitaph on an infant
Ere Sin could blight or Sorrow fade,
Death came with friendly care;
The opening bud to Heaven conveyed,
And bade it blossom there.
1794.
On an infant which died before baptism
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"Be, rather than be call'd, a child of God,"
Death whisper'd!--with assenting nod,
Its head upon its mother's breast,
The Baby bow'd, without demur--
Of the kingdom of the Blest
Possessor, not inheritor.
_April 8th_, 1799.
Epitaph on an infant
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Its balmy lips the infant blest
Relaxing from its mother's breast,
How sweet it heaves the happy sigh
Of innocent satiety!
And such my infant's latest sigh!
Oh tell, rude stone! the passer by,
That here the pretty babe doth lie,
Death sang to sleep with Lullaby.
1799.
-THE END-
Samuel Taylor Coleridge's poem: Epitaph on an infant
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