Enoch Powell: First Poems: XXI) Epitaph on a former self

XXI) Epitaph on a former self

I’ll lay thee down and let tee lie,

My sweet my earliest born;

Thy life has cost me many a sigh,

But now I’ve ceased to mourn.

Oh bitter was the taking leave,

And cruel to snap the thread,

But yet at heart I cannot grieve

To think of thee as dead.

For ne’er could such a weakling frame

As thine to manhood grow,

And sturdier sons may bear thy name,

Brothers thou wilt not know.

Yet none shall ever take away

This love I bear to thee,

Which evermore its toll shall pay

Of griefless memory.

For death has soothed thy sobbing wild

And east rests the head;

Lie still, lie low, my earliest child,

‘Tis well that thou art dead.