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EVELYN HOPE 



EAUTIFUL Evelyn Hope is dead ! 



Sit and watch by her side an hour. 

 This is her book-shelf, this her bed ; 



She plucked that piece of geranium-flower, 

 Beginning to die too, in the glass ; 



Little has yet been changed, I think : 

 The shutters are shut, no light may pass 



Save two long rays thro' the hinge's chink. 



Sixteen years old when she died ! 



Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name ; 

 It was not her time to love ; beside. 



Her life had many a hope and aim, 

 Duties enough and little cares. 



And now was quiet, now astir, 

 TiU God's hand beckoned unawares, — 



And the sweet white brow is all of her. 



Is it too late, then, Evelyn Hope ? 



What, your soul was pure and true, 

 The good stars met in your horoscope. 



Made you of spirit, fire and dew — 

 And, just because I was thrice as old 



And our paths in the world diverged so wide^ 

 Each was nought to each, must I be told ? 



We were fellow mortals, nought beside ? 



No, indeed ! for God above 



Is great to grant, as mighty to make, 



And created the love to reward the love : 

 I claim you stUl, for my own love's sake ! 

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