at news of her death br br Not a line of her writing have I br Not a thread of her hair, br No mark of her late time as dame in her dwelling, whereby br I may picture her there; br And in vain do I urge my unsight br To conceive my lost prize br At her close, whom I knew when her dreams were upbrimming with light br And with laughter her eyes. br br What scenes spread around her last days, br Sad, shining, or dim? br Did her gifts and compassions enray and enarch her sweet ways br With an aureate nimb? br Or did life-light decline from her years, br And mischances control br Her full day-star; unease, or regret, or forebodings, or fears br Disennoble her soul? br br Thus I do but the phantom retain br Of the maiden of yore br As my relic; yet haply the best of her--fined in my brain br It may be the more br That no line of her writing have I, br Nor a thread of her hair, br No mark of her late time as dame in her dwelling, whereby br I may picture her there. br br March 1890.