On A Dead Babe

Fly away! thou heavenly one!-- I do hail thee on thy flight! Sorrow? thou hath tasted none-- Perfect joy is yourn by right. Fly away! and bear our love To thy kith and kin above!

I can tetch thy finger-tips Ca'mly, and bresh back the hair From thy forr'ed with my lips, And not leave a teardrop thare.-- Weep fer Tomps and Ruth--and me-- But I can not weep fer thee.