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Poem	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."
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