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Poem	("Si vous continuez toute pâle.") {November, 1870.} If you continue thus so wan and white; If I, one day, behold You pass from out our dull air to the light, You, infant—I, so old: If I the thread of our two lives must see Thus blent to human view, I who would fain know death was near to me, And far away for you; If your small hands remain such fragile things; If, in your cradle stirred, You have the mien of waiting there for wings, Like to some new-fledged bird; Not rooted to our earth you seem to be. If still, beneath the skies, You turn, O Jeanne, on our mystery Soft, discontented eyes! If I behold you, gay and strong no more; If you mope sadly thus; If you behind you have not shut the door, Through which you came to us; If you no more like some fair dame I see Laugh, walk, be well and gay; If like a little soul you seem to me That fain would fly away— I'll deem that to this world, where oft are blent The pall and swaddling-band, You came but to depart—an angel sent To bear me from the land. LUCY H. HOOPER.
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