CHARLES LAMB

When from thy cheerful eyes a ray Hath struck a bliss upon the day, A bliss that would not go away, A sweet forewarning?

��. On an Infant dying as soon as born

T SAW where in the shroud did lurk A curious frame of Nature's work ;

A floweret crushed in the bud,

A nameless piece of Babyhood,

Was in her cradle-coffin lying;

Extinct, with scarce the sense of dying :

So soon to exchange the imprisoning womb

For darker closets of the tomb!

She did but ope an eye, and put

A clear beam forth, then straight up shut

For the long dark: ne'er more to see

Through glasses of mortality.

Riddle of destiny, who can show

What thy short visit meant, or know

What thy errand here below?

Shall we say that Nature blind

Check'd her hand, and changed her mind,

Just when she had exactly wrought

A finish'd pattern without fault?

Could she flag, or could she tire,

Or lack'd she the Promethean fire

(With her nine moons' long workings sicken'd)

That should thy little limbs have quicken'd ?

Limbs so firm, they seem'd to assure

Life of health, and days mature:

Woman's self in miniature !

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