Duncan Campbell Scott (1862–1947)

HER life was touched with early frost,

About the April of her day,

Her hold on earth was lightly lost,

And like a leaf she went away.

Her soul was chartered for great deeds,

For gentle war unwonted here:

Her spirit sought her clearer needs,

An Empyrean atmosphere.

At hush of eve we hear her still

Say with her clear, her perfect smile,

And with her silver-throated thrill:

‘A little while—a little while.’