Sad trinkets of my little daughter, dresses
That touched her like caresses,
Why do you draw my mournful eyes? To borrow
A newer weight of sorrow?
No longer will you clothe her form, to fold her
Around, and wrap her, hold her.
A hard, unwaking sleep has overpowered
Her limbs, and now the flowered
Cool muslin and the ribbon snoods are bootless,
The gilded girdles fruitless.
My little girl, 'twas to a bed far other
That one day thy poor mother
Had thought to lead thee, and this simple dower
Suits not the bridal hour;
A tiny shroud and gown of her own sewing
She gives thee at thy going.
Thy rather brings a clod of earth, a somber
Pillow for thy last slumber.
And so a single casket, scant of measure,
Locks thee and all thy treasure.
Lament Vii
Jan Kochanowski
(1)
Poem topics: daughter, girl, mother, poor, sad, sleep, sorrow, earth, single, hard, simple, treasure, pillow, hold, cool, thought, measure, Valentine's Day, slumber, casket, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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