In which Marina's body lies
Since saint nor angel will apprise
Her soul of thoughts the visit gave?
What am I seeking to effect
Since she in shunning paths of night
And going straightway into light
Claimed no respect or disrespect?
And what would visiting achieve
For those who bore the hardest brunt
And still must thole the daily want
Except to make them freshly grieve?
I search for cause or motive; yet
It is through instinct that I know
That it is right that I should go
Simply since I do not forget.
This is the first of sixteen contemplations of Marina, the daughter of friends, who was born while they were on holiday on the Isle of Wight, and died immediately. I wrote this mainly on the island during a holiday there not long afterwards, in 1994.