Courtesy of Whitewolf’s collection I bring this very minor 19th century poem which I had never read before. If you remember your Henry Kendall, you will find most of his known poems on the first link below, and a biography linked to his name below that.
The Poems of Henry Kendall
On a Baby Buried by the Hawkesbury
|A GRACE that was lent for a very few hours,
By the bountiful Spirit above us;
She sleeps like a flower in the land of the flowers,
She went ere she knew how to love us.
Her music of Heaven was strange to this sphere,
Her voice is a silence for ever;
In the bitter, wild fall of a sorrowful year,
We buried our bird by the river.
But the gold of the grass, and the green of the vine,
I wouldn’t examine the imagery there too closely, mind. Interesting to read, though, while reading The Secret River.