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THE FUNERAL OF A DOLL.
A paper coffin rosily-lined
Had Little Nell. There, drest in white,
With buds about her, she reclined,
A very fair and piteous sight—
Enough to make one sorry, quite.
And, when at last the lid was shut
Under white flowers, I fancied———but
No matter. When I heard the wind
Scatter Spring-rain that night across
The doll's wee grave, with tears half-blind
One child's heart felt a grievous loss,
Had Little Nell. There, drest in white,
With buds about her, she reclined,
A very fair and piteous sight—
Enough to make one sorry, quite.
And, when at last the lid was shut
Under white flowers, I fancied———but
No matter. When I heard the wind
Scatter Spring-rain that night across
The doll's wee grave, with tears half-blind
One child's heart felt a grievous loss,
"It was a funeral, Mama. Oh,
Poor Little Nell is dead, is dead!
How dark!—and do you hear it blow?
She is afraid." And as she said
These sobbing words, she laid her head
Between her hands, and whispered: "Here
Her bed is made, the precious dear—
She cannot sleep in it, I know.
And there is no one left to wear
Her pretty clothes. Where did she go?
. . . See, this poor ribbon tied her hair!"
Poor Little Nell is dead, is dead!
How dark!—and do you hear it blow?
She is afraid." And as she said
These sobbing words, she laid her head
Between her hands, and whispered: "Here
Her bed is made, the precious dear—
She cannot sleep in it, I know.
And there is no one left to wear
Her pretty clothes. Where did she go?
. . . See, this poor ribbon tied her hair!"
