That they shall meet as they have met, no more.
Of him we speak not—we but know he lives;
And she whose heart, whose very life was his,
Could tell you nothing more.
Lost—lost forever—and her life stood still,
And gazed upon the future’s cold gray heaven,
As if to catch one gleam of hope’s fair star—
No hope was there for her—the hand of God
Lay darkly in the cloud that shadowed it.
A never-ending, living death was hers,