By Nora May French

The morn crept in and found her dead,
The morn crept in upon our tears;
"O life of idle days!" we said,
"O, short young life of wasted years!
That Death should close the laughing eyes,
And still the lips before we knew
If through her girlhood's mysteries
Shone aught of purpose strong and true."

The Spring came to her where she slept--
"In flowers her nature blooms," we thought;
For slender daisies round her crept,
Gay, with her careless beauty fraught.
But strange! we saw them with a start,
We saw, and as we looked, we knew--
For there above the girlish heart,
With upturned faces, Pansies grew.

Published in Land of Sunshine, May 1900