Since daffodils and sunlight made them fair.
But still the gray church from the crowded street
Allures me with the spell of broken dreams.
O heart, my heart, to you and me it seems
That God has left His glory incomplete.
Can we not see her, as a year ago,
Beyond that sunlight flaked in colored fire—
The upturned face, the eyes of still desire,
The dusk-gold hair that now the angels know?
What means this tender April sky to her,