In Memoriam E.S.
F
Frederick George Scott
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HER love was that full love which, like a tide,
Flows in and out life's smallest gulfs and bays,
And fills with music through long summer days
Cold hearts that else would stern and dark abide.
Her smile would cheer, her faintest look could chide;
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No soul too outcast, none too lowly born,
For her kind ear; and none too high for scorn
Of mean pretence, or wrong, or foolish pride.
She loved all Nature; mountain, stream, and tree
To her were thoughts or language for the thought
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She could not utter, signs of truths too high
To set to words. Her love, too, like a tide,
Flowed daily back with cares its surface brought
To the still vast beneath eternal sky.
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