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The craftsman
Volume XXVII, Number 5 (February 1915)

Knapp, Ethel Marjorie
Absence,   p. 515 PDF (212.1 KB)

Page 515

   He saw Paris with eyes that seemed to have dropped their scales.
It was very early and still wet. An old charwoman was sitting in
the entrance of a dairy shop, weeping for her only son.  Boylan
stopped. She was very poor and weak.
   "Come, Mother," he said, lifting her.
   She looked into his face in a way that rowelled the man.
   "Come on," he said softly. "We'll have breakfast, and you'll
tell me. I belong to the widows and fatherless, too."
   So they rocked away together.
      YOU need send me no costly presents
          To remind me of you.
     Momently I am reminded.
I hear a snatch of a song.
Oh, it puts me into the mood I was in one tender
  September evening when you sang to me.
I hear no more of the song that is near,
Only your voice which is far away.
I catch an odor from a rose garden and remember all
  the sweet rosebuds you have fastened into my hair
  with kisses.
Everything beautiful speaks to me of you.
In everything, beautiful or no, I feel the essence of
  you, the strength of you, the broad humanity.
Weary, I lean upon you, Happy, I drink deep of-you,
  Ambitious, I work alongside you, Climbing the hills,
  I catch hold of your hand, my comrade, Loving, I
  kiss you fervently.
Thus am I with you in spirit
Until that moment of happiness
When I hold you close to my heart,
And know that, for a time at least,
No space can separate us.
                           ETHEL MARJORIE KNAPP.

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