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WHILE STEPPING into the carriage she turned her head and threw me a swift glance of farewell.

        This was her last gift to me. But where can I keep it safe from the trampling hours?

        Must evening sweep this gleam of anguish away, as it will the last flicker of fire from the sunset?

        Ought it to be washed off by the rain, as treasured pollens are from heart-broken flowers?

        Leave kingly glory and the wealth of the rich to death. But may not tears keep ever fresh the memory of a glance flung through a passionate moment?

'Give it to me to keep,' said my song; I never touch kings' glory or the wealth of the rich, but these small things are mine for ever.'