Here you will find thePoemThe Dead Childof poet Ernest Christopher Dowson
Sleep on, dear, now The last sleep and the best, And on thy brow, And on thy quiet breast Violets I throw. Thy scanty years Were mine a little while; Life had no fears To trouble thy brief smile With toil or tears. Lie still, and be For evermore a child! Not grudgingly, Whom life has not defiled, I render thee. Slumber so deep, No man would rashly wake; I hardly weep, Fain only, for thy sake. To share thy sleep. Yes, to be dead, Dead, here with thee to-day,-- When all is said 'Twere good by thee to lay My weary head. The very best! Ah, child so tired of play, I stand confessed: I want to come thy way, And share thy rest.
