Full of the meadows,"
she was, it may be, thinking of the hamlet where, in quiet cloisters, long since gone to ruin, she passed her girlish days. There by the
". . . river, widening through the meadows green,
To the vast sea, so near and yet unseen,"
there may have come to her in vision some glimmer of the coming time, some forerunning shadow of the
"Love that is born of the deep, coming up with the sun from the sea."
