Her life was touched with early frost,
About the April of her day,
Her hold on earth was lightly lost,
And like a leaf she went away.
Her soul was chartered for great deeds,
For gentle war unwonted here:
Her spirit sought her clearer needs,
An Empyrean atmosphere.
At hush of eve we hear her still
Say with her clear, her perfect smile,
And with her silver-throated thrill:
“A little while – a little while.”