The body of this death will melt away, THIS INFANT WORLD (From A Memorial of Africa) This infant world has taken long to make, Nor hast Thou done with it, but mak'st it yet, And wilt be working on when death has set A new mound in some churchyard for my sake. On flow the centuries without a break: Uprise the mountains, ages without let; The lichens suck; the hard rock's breast they fret: Years more than past, the young earth yet will take. But in the dumbness of the rolling time, No veil of silence shall encompass me — 10 Thou wilt not once forget and let me be: Rather wouldst thou some old chaotic prime Invade, and, moved by tenderness sublime, Unfold a world, that I, thy child, might O Earth, lie heavily upon her eyes; Seal her sweet eyes weary of watching, Earth: Lie close around her; leave no room for mirth With its harsh laughter, nor for sound of sighs. She hath no questions, she hath no replies, 5 Hushed in and curtained with a blessèd dearth Of all that irked her from the hour of birth; |