Epitaph On The Tombstone Of A Child

This Little, Silent, Gloomy Monument,
Contains all that was sweet and innocent ;
The softest pratler that e'er found a Tongue,
His Voice was Musick and his Words a Song ;
Which now each List'ning Angel smiling hears,
Such pretty Harmonies compose the Spheres;
Wanton as unfledg'd Cupids, ere their Charms
Has learn'd the little arts of doing harms ;
Fair as young Cherubins, as soft and kind,
And tho translated could not be refin'd ;
The Seventh dear pledge the Nuptial Joys had given,
Toil'd here on Earth, retir'd to rest in Heaven ;
Where they the shining Host of Angels fill,
Spread their gay wings before the Throne, and smile.

by Aphra Behn

Comments (3)

it's the 'Has' after 'Charms' that does it for me. And the thought of those smiles in heaven
Monument! With the memories of the past. Nice work.
Sweet, sonorous sixteen-hundreds sonnet. Somewhat sappy yet still pleasing some four hundred years later.