Poems (Chilton, 1885)/C. L. E.
C.L.E.
It is not long since last I clasp'd thy hand,
And heard thy speech, so rich in least pretense,
So kindly-wise, that all might understand;
And now the Unseen Hand hath snatch'd thee hence.
And heard thy speech, so rich in least pretense,
So kindly-wise, that all might understand;
And now the Unseen Hand hath snatch'd thee hence.
And there thou liest, still and pale and cold;
No more thy well-worn palette, loved so much,
Shall blossom into color, as of old;
No more the canvas glow beneath thy touch.
No more thy well-worn palette, loved so much,
Shall blossom into color, as of old;
No more the canvas glow beneath thy touch.
'Tis hard to think that I no more shall greet
Thy friendly presence here on earth, and yet
The more than hope that we shall elsewhere meet
Softens my sad and most sincere regret.
Thy friendly presence here on earth, and yet
The more than hope that we shall elsewhere meet
Softens my sad and most sincere regret.