Francie.
By Rose Hawthorne Lathrop
I loved a child as we should love
Each other everywhere;
I cared more for his happiness
Than I dreaded my own despair.
An angel asked me to give him
My whole life's dearest cost;
And in adding mine to his treasures
I knew they could never be lost.
To his heart I gave the gold,
Though little my own had known;
To his eyes what tenderness
From youth in mine had grown!
I gave him all my buoyant
Hope for my future years;
I gave him whatever melody
My voice had steeped in tears.
Upon the shore of darkness
His drifted body lies.
He is dead, and I stand beside him,
With his beauty in my eyes.
I am like those withered petals
We see on a winter day,
That gladly gave their color
In the happy summer away.
I am glad I lavished my worthiest
To fashion his greater worth;
Since he will live in heaven,
I shall lie content in the earth.