and touching are the following lines, from one of her latest poems.
"My father loved the patient angler's art,
And many a summer's day, from early morn
To latest evening, by some streamlet's side
We two have tarried, strange companionship;
A sad and silent man, and joyous child.
Yet were those days, as I recall them now,
Supremely happy. Silent though he was,
My father's eyes were often on his child,
Tenderly eloquent, and his few words
Were kind and gentle. Never angry tone
Repulsed me, if I broke upon his thoughts
With childish question.
But I learned at last,
Intuitively learned to hold my peace,
When the dark hour was on him, and deep sighs
Spoke the perturbed spirit; only then
I crept a little closer to his side,
And stole my hand in his, or on his arm
Laid my cheek softly; till the simple wile
Won on his sad abstraction, and he turned
With a faint smile and sighed and shook his head,
Stooping toward me; so I reached at last
Mine arm about his neck and clasped it close,
Printing his pale brow with a silent kiss."
In this exquisite picture may we not see the germ
