  The valley of the winding water Wears the same light it wore of old, Still o’er the purple peaks the portals Of distance and desire unfold. Still break the fields of opening June To emerald in their ancient way. The sapphire of the summer heaven Is infinite, as yesterday. My eyes are on the greening earth, The exultant bobolinks wild awing; And yet, of all this kindly gladness, My heart beholds not anything. For in a still room far away, With mourners round her silent head, Blind to the quenchless tears, the anguish— I see, to-day, a woman dead. |
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