A Lament

Poem By Charles Kingsley

The merry merry lark was up and singing,
And the hare was out and feeding on the lea;
And the merry merry bells below were ringing,
When my child's laugh rang through me.

Now the hare is snared and dead beside the snow-yard,
And the lark beside the dreary winter sea;
And the baby in his cradle in the churchyard
Sleeps sound till the bell brings me.


Eversley, 1848.

Comments about A Lament

Lament. That was probably the best lament I have read on this site. Simple, strait and true from the grieving heart of a parent


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Other poems of KINGSLEY

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My fairest child, I have no song to give you;
No lark could pipe to skies so dull and grey:

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Jesus, He loves children small,
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On high, before His mercy-seat.

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Rises as her Maker rose.
Seeds, so long in darkness sleeping,
Burst at last from winter snows.

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While my love climbed up to me!

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Weep, weep, weep and weep,
For pauper, dolt, and slave!
Hark! from wasted moor and fen,

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Wearily stretches the sand to the surge, and the surge to the cloudland;
Wearily onward I ride, watching the water alone.