If in one crowded hour,
When life claims every power,
Some vagrant memory draws nigh to touch,
With fingers hesitant, thy burdened heart,
Even 'midst the clamour of the jostling mart,
Remember that I loved thee, loved thee much.
If in one silent hour,
As dew on thirsty flower
Down falleth softly, over vale and hill,
Some tender thought upon thy heart doth light,
Even 'midst the hush unbroken of the night,
Think only that I love thee, love thee still.
Anne MacDonald