John Clare

On an Infant’s Grave

Beneath the sod where smiling creep
  The daisies into view,
The ashes of an Infant sleep,
  Whose soul’s as smiling too;
Ah! doubly happy, doubly blest,
  (Had I so happy been!)
Recall’d to heaven’s eternal rest,
  Ere it knew how to sin.

Thrice happy Infant! great the bliss
  Alone reserv’d for thee;
Such joy ’twas my sad fate to miss,
  And thy good luck to see;
For oh! when all must rise again,
  And sentence then shall have,
What crowds will wish with me, in vain,
  They’d fill’d an infant’s grave.