Page:Poems Denver.djvu/263

'Tis but a little while—and yet,
 How like an age it seems!
For many a sun hath risen and set
 Within thy world of dreams.

There dwelt admiring glances near,
 And words of praise there fell;
And strains of music on thine ear
 Stole with a joyous swell.
But the sound of voices, low and sweet,
 Broke on thy heart instead,
And the tripping forth of little feet
 Mixed with the dancers' tread.

Thou sawest those earnest eyes again,
 Raised tearfully to thine,
As if their little hearts would fain
 Around thine own entwine.
And in that glance was read, indeed,
 In language deep and strong,
Of childish hearts that felt the need
 Of sympathy too long.

And then a shadowy form arose
 Before thy thoughtful eye,
And thy very life within seemed froze,
 For the dead was drawing nigh.
And with a solemn, noiseless tread,
 She glided by thy side,
Till every wish seemed with the dead,
 And near to heaven allied.