“—— _of heart-failure_.”
(i)
Death touched me where your head had lain.
What other spot could he have found
So tender to receive a wound,
So versed in all the arts of pain?
(ii)
Love came, and gave me wind and sun,
Love went, and left me light and air.
Nor gave he anything more fair
Than what I found when he was gone.
HERE END THE TWELVE POEMS BY EDITH
WHARTON, PRINTED IN THE RICCARDI PRESS
FOUNT AT THE CHISWICK PRESS FOR THE MEDICI
SOCIETY, LONDON. MDCCCCXXVI
------------------------------------------------------------------------