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A CHILD'S GRAVE AT FLORENCE.
139
XIX.
To us, us also—open straight!
The outer life is chilly—
Are we, too, like the earth, to wait
Till next year for our Lily?
XX.
—Oh, my own baby on my knees,
My leaping, dimpled treasure,—
At every word I write like these,
Clasped close, with stronger pressure!
XXI.
Too well my own heart understands . . .
At every word, beats fuller . . .
My little feet, my little hands,
And hair of Lily's colour!
XXII.
—But God gives patience, Love learns strength,
And Faith remembers promise;
And Hope itself can smile at length
On other hopes gone from us.
XXIII.
Love, strong as Death, shall conquer Death,
Through struggle, made more glorious:
This mother stills her sobbing breath,
Renouncing, yet victorious.
