I saw where in the shroud did lurk

A curious frame of Nature’s work;

A floweret crushd in the bud,

A nameless piece of Babyhood,

Was in her cradle-coffin lying;

Extinct, with scarce the sense of dying:

So soon to exchange the imprisoning womb

For darker closets of the tomb!

She did but ope an eye, and put

A clear beam forth, then straight up shut

For the long dark: neer more to see

Through glasses of mortality.

Riddle of destiny, who can show

What thy short visit meant, or know

What thy errand here below?

Shall we say that Nature blind

Checkd her hand, and changed her mind,

Just when she had exactly wrought

A finishd pattern without fault?

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