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 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.
'Tis hard to think that I no more shall greet Thy friendly presence here on earth, and yetThe more than hope that we shall elsewhere meet Softens my sad and most sincere regret.