Her Poem: "My Baby Girl, That Was Born And Died On The Same Day."

"Ah, with torn heart I see them still,
    Wee unused clothes and empty cot.
Though glad my love has missed the ill
    That falls to woman's lot.

"No tangled paths for her to tread
    Throughout the coming changeful years;
No desperate weird to dree and dread;
    No bitter lonely tears!

"No woman's piercing crown of thorns
    Will press my aching baby's brow;
No starless nights, no sunless morns,
    Will ever greet her now.

"The clothes that I had wrought with care
    Through weary hours for love's sweet sake
Are laid aside, and with them there
    A heart that seemed to break."

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

Francis William Lauderdale Adams (27 September 1862 – 4 September 1893) was an English writer, poet, dramatist, and social reformer. His literary work often reflected his radical socialist views. Adams lived a life marred by poverty and struggles with his health, eventually committing suicide at the age of 30. Despite his brief life, his contributions to literature and social thought remain significant.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

A Death At Sea. (Coral Sea, Australia.)

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

A Mahommadan Ship Fireman.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

The Caged Eagle.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

To Japan.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

My Baby

He lay on my breast so sweet and fair,
    I fondly fancied his home was there,
Nor thought that the eyes of merry blue,
    With baby love for me laughing through,

Were pining to go from whence he came,
    Leaving my arm empty and heart in pain,
Longing to spread out his wings and fly
    To his native home far beyond the sky

They took him out of my arms and said
    My baby so sweet and fair was dead,
My baby that was my heart's delight
    The fair little body they robed in white

Flowers they placed at the head and feet
    Like my baby fair, like my baby sweet,
They laid him down in a certain place,
    And round him they draped soft folds of lace

Till I'd look my last at my baby white,
    Before they carried him from my sigh...

Nora Pembroke

Weep With Those Who Weep.

(Mary Maud.)


O friends, I cannot comfort, but will share with you your grieving,
    In the valley of the shadow where you sit in helpless tears;
Greater is the parting anguish, than the joy of first receiving
    The sweet gift that was your treasure through five happy, golden years

When I laid within your arms the dear babe that God had given,
    There was hidden in the future all the tears that you must weep,
Ah! the little ones so tangled in our heart-strings, they are riven
    In the parting, are but treasures lent not given us to keep

There's silence in the places her voice filled with happy laughter,
    Stillness waiting for the echo of the patter of her feet,
You are gazing on her picture, and your heart is longing after
    The tender touch of ...

Nora Pembroke

Araluen

Take this rose, and very gently place it on the tender, deep
Mosses where our little darling, Araluen, lies asleep.
Put the blossom close to baby kneel with me, my love, and pray;
We must leave the bird weve buried say good-bye to her to-day.
In the shadow of our trouble we must go to other lands,
And the flowers we have fostered will be left to other hands:
Other eyes will watch them growing other feet will softly tread
Where two hearts are nearly breaking, where so many tears are shed.
Bitter is the world we live in: life and love are mixed with pain;
We will never see these daisies never water them again.

Ah! the saddest thought in leaving baby in this bush alone
Is that we have not been able on her grave to place a stone:
We have been too poor to do it; but, my darling...

Henry Kendall

The Little White Hearse

Somebody's baby was buried to-day -
    The empty white hearse from the grave rumbled back,
And the morning somehow seemed less smiling and gay
As I paused on the walk while it crossed on its way,
    And a shadow seemed drawn o'er the sun's golden tract.

Somebody's baby was laid out to rest,
    White as a snowdrop, and fair to behold,
And the soft little hands were crossed over the breast,
And those hands and the lips and the eyelids were pressed
    With kisses as hot as the eyelids were cold.

Somebody saw it go out of her sight,
    Under the coffin lid -out through the door;
Somebody finds only darkness and blight
All through the glory of summer-sun light;
    Somebody's baby will waken no more.

Somebody's sorrow is making me weep:
    I...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The Death Of The Pauper Child.

Hush, mourning mother, wan and pale!
    No sobs - no grieving now:
No burning tears must thou let fall
    Upon that cold still brow;
No look of anguish cast above,
    Nor smite thine aching breast,
But clasp thy hands and thank thy God -
    Thy darling is at rest.

Close down those dark-fringed, snowy lids
    Over the violet eyes,
Whose liquid light was once as clear
    As that of summer skies.
Is it not bliss to know what e'er
    Thy future griefs and fears,
They will be never dimmed like thine
    By sorrow's scalding tears?

Enfold the tiny fingers fair,
    From which life's warmth has fled,
For ever freed from wearing toil -
    The toil for daily bread:
Compose the softly moulded limbs,
    The little waxen feet,...

Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon

Reminiscences Of The Departed.

His mission soon accomplished,
His race on earth soon run,
He passed to realms of glory,
Above the rising sun.

So beautiful that infant,
When in death's arms he lay;
It seemed like peaceful slumber,
That morn might chase away.

But morning light was powerless,
Those eyelids to unclose;
And sunshine saw and left him,
In undisturbed repose.

The light of those blue orbs
That drank the sunbeams in,
Now yields to night, and darkness
Holds undisputed reign.

That little form so graceful,
The light brown chestnut hair;
Those half formed words when uttered,
That face so sweet and fair;

All, all his ways so winning,
Were impotent to save
His life, when called to yield it
By Him that life who gave.

Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow