I.
‘Dust unto dust!’ Sweet child!
Was that dark sentence ever meant for thee?
For that bright form, that tablet undefiled,
Creation’s mystery?
No no, it could not be, for God is just;
That beauteous brow! oh, who could call that dust?
And yet methought I heard
Those words slow uttered o’er thy tiny grave,
As though that Eden-calm had e’er been stirred