A Child Ill

Oh little body, do not die
The soul looks out through wide blue eyes
So questioningly into mine
That my tormented soul replies
“Oh little body, do not die;
You hold the soul that talks to me
Although our conversation be
As wordless as the windy sky.”
So looked my father at the last
Right in my soul before he died
Though words we spoke went heedless past
As London traffic-roar outside
And now the same blue eyes I see
Look through me from my little son
So questioningly, so searchingly
That youthfulness and age are one
My father looked at me and died
Before my soul made full reply
Lord, leave this other light alight:
Oh little body, do not die