The Child's Grave-Edmund Blunden (1896-1974)

The Child's Grave

I came to the churchyard where pretty Joy lies

On a morning in April, a rare sunny day;

Such bloom rose around, and so many birds' cries

That I sang for delight as I followed the way.

I sang for delight in the ripening of spring,

For dandelions even were suns come to earth;

Not a moment went by but a new lark took wing

To wait on the season with melody's mirth.

Love-making birds were my mates all the road,

And who would wish surer delight for the eye

Than to see pairing goldfinches gleaming abroad

Or yellowhammers sunning on paling and sty?

And stocks in the almswomen's garden were blown,

With rich Easter roses each side of the door;

The lazy white owls in the glade cool and lone

Paid calls on their cousins in the elm's chambered core.

This peace, then, and happiness thronged me around.

Nor could I go burdened with grief, but made merry

Till I came to the gate of that overgrown ground

Where scarce once a year sees the priest come to bury.

Over the mounds stood the nettles in pride,

And, where no fine flowers, there kind weeds dared to wave;

It seemed but as yesterday she lay by my side,

And now my dog ate of the grass on her grave.

He licked my hand wondering to see me muse so,

And wished I would lead on the journey or home,

As though not a moment of spring were to go

In brooding; but I stood, if her spirit might come

And tell me her life, since we left her that day

In the white lilied coffin, and rained down our tears;

But the grave held no answer, though long I should stay;

How strange that this clay should mingle with hers!

So I called my good dog, and went on my way;

Joy's spirit shone then in each flower I went by,

And clear as the noon, in coppice and ley,

Her sweet dawning smile and her violet eye! 

--Edmund Blunden