Because I cannot look upon her beauty day by day,
Nor see the pointed crocus flame above the garden mould,
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,