Blushing, and at any word of praise
Shaking out her sunny golden hair.
And the little one of all—poor child!
She had cost that dear and precious life.
Once Sir Arthur spoke my lady’s name,
When the baby’s gloomy christening came,
And he call’d her “Olga—like my wife.”
Save that time he never spoke of her.
He grew graver, sterner every day:
And the children felt it, for they dropp’d