Olive Custance

“ To stem the stealthy hours with wine and song!. . .
Though death stood up between us stern and strong,
And fate twined nets to trip our dancing feet. . . .
. . . . Too soon, alas! too soon our summer swooned
To bitter winter . . . . and against the lace
Of tossed white pillows lay a reckless face,
With feverish parched mouth like a red wound. . . .
Yet still was our brave love not overthrown,
And I would nestle at your side and see
Your large sad eyes grow passionate for me. . . .
Love! wake and speak . . . . I cannot live alone. . . . ”