Explore "Francine" by Ambrose Bierce on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Did I believe the angels soon would call / You, my beloved, to the other shore, / And I should never see you any more, / I love you so I know that I should fall / Into dejection utterly, and all / Love's pretty pageantry, wherein we bore / Twin banners bravely in the tumult's fore, / Would seem as shadows idling on a wall.
So daintily I love you that my love / Endures no rumor of the winter's breath, / And only blossoms for it thinks the sky / Forever gracious, and the stars above / Forever friendly. Even the fear of death / Were frost wherein its roses all would die.