Let the living," she said,
"Inquire of the Dead,
In the house of the pale-faced Images,—
And my own true Dead will answer for me, that I
have not loved amiss,
In my love for all these.
VII.
"The least touch of their hands in the morning, I
keep day and night:
Their least step on the stair, still throbs through
me, if ever so light:
Their least gift, which they left to my childhood, in
long ago years,
Is now turned from a toy to a relic, and gazed at
through tears.
Dig the snow," she said,
"For my churchyard bed;
Yet I, as I sleep, shall not fear to freeze,
If but one of these love me with heart-warm tears,
As I have loved these!
VIII.
"If I have angered any among them, my own life
was sore;
If I fell from their presence, I clung to their memory
more:
Their tender I often felt holy, their bitter I some-
times called sweet;
And whenever their heart has refused me, I fell
