239. UPON A CHILD THAT DIED
Here she lies, a pretty bud,
Lately made of flesh and blood;
Who as soon fell fast asleep,
As her little eyes did peep.
—Give her strewings, but not stir
The earth, that lightly covers her.
Here she lies, a pretty bud,
Lately made of flesh and blood;
Who as soon fell fast asleep,
As her little eyes did peep.
—Give her strewings, but not stir
The earth, that lightly covers her.