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.”