CHLOE.

NIGHT wind sighing through the poplar leaves, Trembling of the aspen, shivering of the willow, Every leafy voice of all the night-time grieves, Mourning, weeping over Chloe's pillow.

Chloe, fresher than the breeze of dawn, Fairer than the larches in their young spring glory, Brighter than the glow-worms on the dewy lawn, Hear the dirge the green trees sing to end your story:—

“Chloe lived and Chloe loved: she brought new gladness, Hope and life and all things good to all who met her; Only, dying, wept to know the lifelong sadness Willed, against her will, to those who can n't forget her.”