Classic Poem

A Baby, sir? surely, yes! a long while since we had one,
A little daughter, as pretty as e'er you set eyes upon;
She came to our poor old tent in the darkest hour of the night,
And, I tell you, it seemed as if day'd broke sudden, to cheer us with light.

My wife was wonderful glad; and when she and that baby of ours
Were sitting together, sir, under trees, in the midst of flowers,
I used to remember a picture I'd seen in a shop long ago; —
'Twas the Lord by His mother's side — at least the folk there told me so.

We'd travel along all day, the donkey, myself, and my wife,
With the baby in one of the panniers — ah! that was a real good life!
And when the evening came on, in the quietest spot we could find,
We'd pitch our tent by the hedge, on the opposite side from the wind.

Near the fire, just close to the tent, my wife and myself would sit,
And talk for a while of the child, who was sleeping inside of it:
How careful we'd bring her up to dance at the fairs some day,
And tell Gorgios' fortunes, so as to charm their money away.

But just as the winter passed, and the beautiful spring-dawn smiled,
A fever went through the land, and she took it — our only child!
Cold, ay, colder than snow was the touch of her poor little feet,
But her cheeks were burning red, like the poppies among the wheat.

Said her mother to me at night: " Rise quickly, O husband dear —
Quickly, and run to the town, and fetch us the doctor here. "
I went, and I fetched him back, but as soon as I looked at the bed,
I knew that he'd come too late, for my little daughter was dead!

My wife cried bitter, but I could only sit stupidly down,
And I hadn't a word, till next day a gentleman came from the town —
A preaching gentleman, sir, — I knew it by his clothes, d'ye see —
And he set himself down by my side, and preached to my wife and me

He talked, and we let him talk, and never answered a word,
Till he said, " You'll be wanting to bury your baby in our churchyard?
In the shadow of God's own house 'tis a blessed thing to lie " — —
But " Never, never! " I cried; " no, sir, I would sooner die! "

Said I: " If it's really true, certain and true, what you say,
That the folk will rise from their graves on the Lord's great judgment-day,
Why, if my child was to wake with a crowd of Gorgios in sight,
She'd feel so strange, I believe she'd die over again with fright.

" My little darling must sleep where the beautiful flowers grow;
Where the squirrel gathers his nuts, leaping merrily to and fro;
Where the Gipsies may pitch their tent at the closing of summer eves,
And birds through the summer days may sing under shadowing leaves. "

So I went and I dug a grave in the quietest part of the wood,
Where a tree, grown higher than the rest, for my baby's headstone stood;
And there, under many flowers, she is lying so calm and still;
But, sir, as for rising again, why, I don't think she ever will.