Of change in outward things, she did not change;
Her heart still knew one star, one hope, it did not range,
Like to the watery hearts of tidal men,
Swayed by all moons of beauty; she was firm,
When most convinced of misery firmest then.
She held a light not subject to the worm.
The pageant of the summer ran its term,
The last stack came to staddle from the wain;
The snow fell, the snow thawed, the year began again.
With the wet glistening gold of celandines,