Elizabeth Stuart Phelps

Aug 31, 1844 - Jan 28, 1911


In Teeth Of Fate

by Elizabeth Stuart Phelps

Let us sit in our darkening weather,
Dear Heart! alone together
For a while,
And talk it all over bravely.
Nay, lift me not up that white, sweet smile
We'll face what is coming bravely or gravely,
But I cannot bear that smile.

No, I did not say the dying,
But those departing, flying
Far away,
Smile so. Come a little nearer!
I can better think what I had to say.
My darling, my darling! stay nearer, be dearer!
We will talk some other day.


Poetic Studies
Copyright 1875
James R. Osgood And Company, Boston
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