I Saw Her For A Moment, Her Presence Haunts Me Yet, In Oft-Recurring Visions Of Grace And Gladness Met That Marked The Sweet Demeanor Of Dainty Margaret. Like Gossamer Her Robe Was Around Her Lightly Drawn, A Filmy Summer-Garment That Fairy Maidens Don To Make Them Look Like Angels Croqueting On The Lawn. The Mallet-Sport Became Her In Hue Of Exercise That Tinged Her Cheek With Roses; And, Dancing In Her Eyes, Were Pantomime Suggestions Of Having Won - A Prize. No More To Me A Stranger Is She Who Occupies A Place In All My Musings; And Brings In Tender Guise A Thought Of One So Like Her - Long Years In Paradise. Dear Margaret! That "Pearl-Name" Is Thine - And May It Be The Synonym Of Goodness, Of Truth And Purity, And All Ennobling Graces Exemplified In Thee.