Epitaph on an Infant by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

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Ere Sin could blight or Sorrow fade, / Death came with friendly care; / The opening bud to Heaven conveyed, / And bade it blossom there.

ON AN INFANT WHICH DIED BEFORE BAPTISM

"Be, rather than be call'd, a child of God," / Death whisper'd! -- with assenting nod, / Its head upon its mother's breast, / The Baby bow'd, without demur -- / Of the kingdom of the Blest / Possessor, not inheritor.

EPITAPH ON AN INFANT

Its balmy lips the infant blest / Relaxing from its mother's breast, / How sweet it heaves the happy sigh / Of innocent satiety!

And such my infant's latest sigh! / Oh tell, rude stone! the passer by, / That here the pretty babe doth lie, / Death sang to sleep with Lullaby.

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