The Dying Child
John Clare 1793 (Helpston) – 1864 (St Andrew's Hospital)
He could not die when trees were green,
For he loved the time too well.
His little hands, when flowers were seen,
Were held for the bluebell,
As he was carried o'er the green.
His eye glanced at the white-nosed bee;
He knew those children of the spring:
When he was well and on the lea
He held one in his hands to sing,
Which filled his heart with glee.
Infants, the children of the spring!
How can an infant die
When butterflies are on the wing,
Green grass, and such a sky?
How can they die at spring?
He held his hands for daisies white,
And then for violets blue,
And took them all to bed at night
That in the green fields grew,
As childhood's sweet delight.
And then he shut his little eyes,
And flowers would notice not;
Birds' nests and eggs caused no surprise,
He now no blossoms got;
They met with plaintive sighs.
When winter came and blasts did sigh,
And bare were plain and tree,
As he for ease in bed did lie
His soul seemed with the free,
He died so quietly.
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on April 03, 2023
- 57 sec read
- 125 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | ABABA CDCDC DEDED FGFGF HIHIH ECECC |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 952 |
Words | 191 |
Stanzas | 6 |
Stanza Lengths | 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5 |
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"The Dying Child" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 14 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/22299/the-dying-child>.
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