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 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.

Poem by Duncan Campbell Scott
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