Poem by Francis Thompson

To a Child

Whenas my life shall time with funeral tread
The heavy death-drum of the beaten hours,
Following, sole mourner, mine own manhood dead,
Poor forgot corse, where not a maid strows flowers;
When I you love am no more I you love,
But go with unsubservient feet, behold
Your dear face through changed eyes, all grim change prove;--
A new man, mock-ed with misname of old;
When shamed Love keep his ruined lodging, elf!
When, ceremented in mouldering memory,
Myself is hears-ed underneath myself,
And I am but the monument of me:-
O to that tomb be tender then, which bears
Only the name of him it sepulchres! 

1. Gilded Gold
2. Dream-Tryst
3. To My Godchild, Francis M.W.M.
4. The Making of Viola
5. To a Child Heard Repeating Her Mother's Verses

Louise Guiney To a Child ("Dear Owain, when you are minded")

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