Because I cannot look upon her beauty day by day,
Nor see the pointed crocus flame above the garden mold,
Nor watch the snowy tips that frame the daisy’s heart of gold;
Because unto my longing eyes may never be displayed
The changeful glory of the skies, warm shine and soothing shade,
Nor the great sun’s far-reaching rays which crown the day with light,
Nor yet the star-lit purple haze that comes before the night;
She breathes the tender tale to me, in accents clear and plain,
Until I nearly rend the veil and see it all again.
And though I’m blind, I know quite well, when to the woods we go,