Years after there was found among her papers a tear-blotted sheet of verses dating from this sorrowful time: and though the sorrow opens and shows ahead, as in a flash, the contempt towards which the current is sweeping her, you see her travel down to it with hands bravely battling, clutching at the weak roots of love and hope along the shore: "O thou whom sacred rites design'd My guide and husband ever kind, My sovereign master, best of friends, On whom my earthly bliss depends: If e'er thou didst in Hetty see AugHT fair or good or dear to thee, If gentle speech can ever move The cold remains of former love, Turn thou at last-my bosom ease, Or tell me why I fail to please.
"Hetty Wesley"
Sir Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch
O Man to whom my heart hast leaned, dost know AugHT of my life?
"A Woman's Love Letters"
Sophie M. Almon-Hensley
But in his van the beaten showman bowed His head upon his hands, and wept, not knowing AugHT of what passed except that wind was blowing.
"King Cole"
John Masefield