Out of the North
He passed away, and now forever stands

As close to God as gentle Damien.

[Pg 10]

[Pg 10]

 The Light-o'-Love

The dogs were whining; they sensed too well

The load upon the sled;

The rough-hewn box with the light-o'-love—

A girl, 'twas said.

A week ago, at the Palace Bar,

She sang the songs of France;

But many a heart is lead the while

The feet must dance.

Kisses she gave and kisses she took,

Sinned for her daily bread;

But all we knew as we eyed the box

Was: she was dead.

We placed upon it (How much it hurt

Only the good God knows!)

A gaud she had worn in her dusky hair—


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