Of me, "You knew her? She is dead!"
"Ah!" you will briefly, quickly say,
And careless pass your busy way.
But in the maze of crowded street
Somehow the words themselves repeat;
Darkens the sunshine overhead;
Life is the same, yet she is dead!
The busy days go on their round,
The dead are buried under ground;
Yet twilight, sunset, and the dawn
Repeat, "She loved you-she is gone."
And from the evening's hush and gloom,
Amid the shadow-haunted room,
Or conjured up from murmured rhyme,
Smiles a fair face from olden time,
With eyes as blue and brow as fair,
And softly waving, scented hair,
And lips as clinging, fond with truth,
And tender with the dews of youth;
Now passion-pure, so cold and pale
They smile behind the spirit-veil,
Soft whispering over earthly strife-
"Love, I have loved you all my life!"
You murmur, "It is true, they said-
My love that loved me, she is dead!"
__Cora M. Downs.
Source: Kansas in Literature
Part 1. Poetry
(Topeka: Crane & Company. 1900)