Even Cities Have Their Graves!

Gone Are The Birds That Were Our Summer Guests.

There Is No Death! What Seems So Is Transition; This Life Of Mortal Breath Is But A Suburb Of The Life Elysian, Whose Portal We Call Death.

The Sea Hath Its Pearls The Heaven Hath Its Stars But My Heart, My Heart Has Its Love.

O Thou Child Of Many Prayers! Life Hath Quicksands, Life Hath Snares! Care And Age Come Unawares!

Standing, With Reluctant Feet, Where The Brook And River Meet, Womanhood And Childhood Fleet!