SHE did not go, as others do, br With backward look and beckoning; br With no farewell for anything br She passed the open doorway through. br br The little things she left behind br Lie where they fell from hands content-- br Fame a forgotten incident br And life a season out of mind. br br The spring will find her footstep gone, br But spring is kind to vanished things, br Camas and buttercups she brings br With green that tears have brightened on. br br And we, who walked with her last year br While April in the lilacs stirred, br Will turn with sudden look or word-- br Forgetting that she is not here.