Even now upon my cheek,—his seal
On form, and brow, and cheek.
“But for a bright-winged bird like him,
To hush his joyous song,
And prisoned in a coffin dim,
Join death’s pale phantom throng,—my boy
To join that grisly throng!
“O mother, I can scarcely bear
To think of this to-day:
It was so exquisitely fair,