Author Isabel Ecclestone Mackay BY a sense of Presence, keenly dear, I, who thought her distant, Knew her near. By an echo that most sweetly woke, I, long keyed to silence, Knew she spoke. By her nearness and the word she said, I, who thought her living, Knew her dead. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments