Think not to know the secret of that room;—
Closed is the door, even to herself; no more
She lingers there, though well our hearts are sure
It is no spot of shadowy, haunted gloom.
The violets that blossom there unseen
Were never gathered, and so never fade;
Breathing serenely through the gentle shade
Their memories of all that once had been.
When in the thoughtful twilight we, her friends,
Walk with her, and in spirit dimly feel