Henry Kendall

(18 April 1839 – 1 August 1882 / Ulladulla, New South Wales)

On A Baby Buried By The Hawkesbury - Poem by Henry Kendall

A grace that was lent for a very few hours,
By the bountiful Spirit above us;
She sleeps like a flower in the land of the flowers,
She went ere she knew how to love us.
Her music of Heaven was strange to this sphere,
Her voice is a silence for ever;
In the bitter, wild fall of a sorrowful year,
We buried our bird by the river.

But the gold of the grass, and the green of the vine,
And the music of wind and of water,
And the torrent of song and superlative shine,
Are close to our dear little daughter.
The months of the year are all gracious to her,
A winter breath visits her never;
She sleeps like a bird in a cradle of myrrh,
By the banks of the beautiful river.

Comments about On A Baby Buried By The Hawkesbury by Henry Kendall

  • (4/7/2010 4:49:00 AM)

    very nice poem
    'the gold of the grass and the green of the vine
    and the music of wind and of water'
    the peacefulness and nature is portrayed beautifully.
    thank you for sharing
    (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, April 7, 2010

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