Echo

Under the heading 'Every-Day Poems'[1]

These things you said so long ago,

They do not pass with you

Into the night; but on and on

They shine, my faith renew.

I may be sitting where we sat

Or walking, where, together

We often moved in summer days

Or in the rain drenched weather.

A rose will bend to catch the dew

Or glimpse a sunny sky,

I hear your voice as once it spoke,

Ah, you could never die—

Nor go from me, not while your thought

Lives in my heart and cries

Aloud in these familiar scenes,

In rose and rain and skies.

-       George Elliston[2]

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[1] This poem is not pasted in Clare’s book; it is loose between pages 76 and 77, so it probably postdates the pasted-in clippings. Information on the reverse of the clipping (A review of a performance of Die Meistersinger by the Metropolitan Opera at Philadelphia’s Academy of Music with Arthur Bodanzky conducting) shows the clipping is from one of four dates: April 1, 1925; January 11, 1928; December 8, 1929; or March 14, 1934. The clipping seems to be from a Philadelphia newspaper; if that is so, Clare probably put it in her book in when she was 32. The poem apparently struck a chord with her; she underlined in pen the portion underlined above.

[2] Born in Kentucky in 1883, George Elliston led an extraordinary life. She was a reporter for the former Cincinnati Times-Star for over 40 years. At a time when most newspaperwomen were forced into writing for the society or cooking sections, George Elliston was a hard-news reporter covering crime, murder, and local tragedies. She was known for going to great lengths (and dangers) to get a story. While her professional life was spent reporting, much of her personal time was devoted to writing poetry. Ms. Elliston’s poetry was printed in newspapers and magazines in the United States and reproduced in anthologies in France, Germany, Great Britain, and China.

Ms. Elliston married Augustus Coleman in 1907 and briefly moved with him to St. Louis. She soon returned alone to Cincinnati where she would remain without her husband for the remainder of her life. It was under her married name, however, that George Elliston bought valuable Cincinnati real estate that would later earn her a small fortune. Upon her death in 1946, both the community and school were shocked to learn that George Elliston had left nearly a quarter of a million dollars to the University of Cincinnati. The resulting trust fund created a chair of poetry, a reading room in the library, and an annual poetry prize.  (Source: Library of the University of Cincinnati – libraries.uc.edu)