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1876–1944

XIII

Helen Hay Whitney

I died to-day, and yet upon my eyes A glamour of the gorgeous summer green Still wavers, and my brain has kept a keen, Sweet bird-song. Glad with light, the summer skies

Are sapphire, and a purple shadow lies Across the hills — no change is on the scene Since happy yesterday. Ah! can it mean The body lives when stricken spirit dies?

The blow has fallen, yet I can recall The first of days when this dead heart drew breath — A wondrous moon-flower waking of a heart. Strange — then as now the moment seemed to part

Body from soul, so like are birth and death; So did I gain, and so I lost my all.

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XIII · Helen Hay Whitney · Poetry Cove