Still we could smile, and still we said,
“Hope, joy, and beauty are not dead;
God’s angel guards them all and sees—
Close by the grave he sits and waits—
There comes a spring for even these.”
We bore to see dear faces pale,
Dear voices falter, smiles grow wan,
And life ebb like a tide at sea,
Till underneath the misty veil
Our best belovèd, one by one,