To a Sick Child

I would make you cookies But you could not eat them ; I would bring you roses But you would not care. In your scornful beauty, Arrogant and patient, Though I'd die to please you You lie silent there.

Your once wanton sister Creeps about on tiptoe, And your brother hurries At your slightest nod : Watching at your bedside When you sleep I tremble Lest before you waken You go back to God.