The Pansy, her brief summer spent and done,
In veil of purple shrouds her vesper face
Her dreams unmarked by any staring sun,
She holds, in hidden keeping, her life’s grace.
So, dear one passing, where the days have wrought
The end, and gently beckon you apart,
Keep of us who so loved you one sweet thought,
Like Pansy, treasured in a brooding heart.
