On An Infant Dying As Soon as Born

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    I saw where in the shroud did lurk

    A curious frame of Nature’s work;

    A floweret crushd in the bud,

    A nameless piece of Babyhood,

    Was in her cradle-coffin lying;

    Extinct, with scarce the sense of dying:

    So soon to exge the imprisoning womb

    For darker closets of the tomb!

    She did but ope an eye, and put

    A clear beam forth, then straight up shut

    For the long dark: neer more to see

    Through glasses of mortality.

    Riddle of destiny, who  show

    What thy short visit meant, or know

    What thy errand here below?

    Shall we say that Nature blind

    Checkd her hand, and ged hmore harmless vanity?

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