Page:Roden Noel - A Little Child's Monument - 1881.pdf/69

Azrael.

I was bending o'er my treasured infant,
O'er his infernal bed of pain;
All my spirit cloven to its foundations,
Echoing his cries again,
They went crashing through my brain.
Till there came a hollow, hollow knocking
At my darling's lowly chamber door,
And my tortured heart sank fainting in me,
For I knew who stood before.
Then I beheld a dumb and dreadful Presence,
Shrouded in long rigid folds of grey,
Never daring to unveil its awful visage
Before the blessed day.
I, confronting, barred the lowly entrance;
Yea, I flung my bleeding soul athwart.
I swore, "Thy touch shall ne'er pollute my holy one
Till thou tread upon my heart!
Swift-souled he is, and pure, and fair, and happy,
All his life yet pausing in the bud;
He is mine eyes, the pulse of all my being,