VI
For days I sit and think and cannot speak.
Forgotten have I how to live, it seems,
Without you—altar-place of all my dreams—
The heart it is so pitiful and weak.
For days I sit and think and cannot speak
While round me living murmurs till it seems
The rushing water round some wrecked ship’s beams,
Nor know day’s joined with day, nor week with week.
And then some word you said to me comes back,
Some little word you whispered long ago,
And I forget my grief and wake to know
The miracle the rolling year brings back,
The miracle of joy one word can bring—
That one small violet can make a Spring.