Frederick George Scott



In Memoriam. E. S.

Her love was that full love which, like the 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;
    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

        She could not utter, signs of truth too high
To set to words. Her love, too, like the sea,
    Flowed daily back with cares its surface brought
        To that still vast beneath eternal sky.

November 21, 1883. [Page 136]