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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=393054" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>In Memoriam E.S.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=393054" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">HER love was that full love which, like a tide,<br> Flows in and out life's smallest gulfs and bays,<br> And fills with music through long summer days<br>Cold hearts that else would stern and dark abide.<br>Her smile would cheer, her faintest look could chide;<br>5<br> No soul too outcast, none too lowly born,<br> For her kind ear; and none too high for scorn<br>Of mean pretence, or wrong, or foolish pride.<br>She loved all Nature; mountain, stream, and tree<br> To her were thoughts or language for the thought<br>10<br> She could not utter, signs of truths too high<br>To set to words. Her love, too, like a tide,<br> Flowed daily back with cares its surface brought<br> To the still vast beneath eternal sky.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Frederick+George+Scott">Frederick George Scott</a></strong></div>

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