While yet a child to those who knew me not.
The wreath of Fame e’en then for thee was twining;
High aspirations urged thee proudly on:
The light of love upon thy path was shining,
A dear hand would be thine when fame was won.
I bade God speed thee; though my heart was breaking
My pale cheek flushed beneath thy parting kiss —
Hope from my soul a final leave was taking —
The future hath no trial worse than this.