ON A DEAD BABE

By James Whitcomb Riley

Fly away! thou heavenly one!—

I do hail thee on thy flight!

Sorrow? thou hath tasted none —

Perfect joy is yourn by right.

Fly away! and bear our love

To thy kith and kin above!

I can tetch thy finger-tips

Ca'mly, and bresh back the hair

From thy forr'ed with my lips,

And not leave a teardrop thare.—

Weep fer Tomps and Ruth — and me —

But I can not weep fer thee.