Never-ever
again,
in all the mutations
of this passing world
of things,
of noise and empty rancour,
will my son
turn
his baby face
towards my voice;
as he did,
during those terrible hours
before
he died
and I
carried his infant body to the mortuary.
O! his blue-blue eyes,
look again at me,
look through all the workings of eternity,
in that long ago
land
of lost content:
heaven sent
my son and I,
‘neath a darkening sky.
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Thank you Hugh, Holden, Bethany & Hélène. Especial thanks to you Stephen.
On my First Son 1616
BY BEN JONSON
Farewell, thou child of my right hand, and joy;
My sin was too much hope of thee, lov'd boy.
Seven years tho' wert lent to me, and I thee pay,
Exacted by thy fate, on the just day.
O, could I lose all father now! For why
Will man lament the state he should envy?
To have so soon 'scap'd world's and flesh's rage,
And if no other misery, yet age?
Rest in soft peace, and, ask'd, say, "Here doth lie
Ben Jonson his best piece of poetry."
For whose sake henceforth all his vows be such,
As what he loves may never like too much.
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Stephen Gospage
Sun 12th May 2024 08:18
A beauty and directness about this tragic tale, John. It is rare to read something that makes such an impact.