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Samuel Taylor Coleridge - Epitaph On An Infant.
Work rating: Low

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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