Ten years ago it seemed impossible
That she should ever grow so calm as this,
in her warmest kiss
And dim dried eyes like an exhausted well
Slow-speaking when she has some fact to tell,
with long-unbroken silences,
Centred in self yet not unpleased to please,
like a passing bell.
Mindful of drudging daily common things,
Patient at pastime, patient
in her work,
Wearied perhaps but strenuous certainly.
I fancy we may one day
Her head shoot forth seven stars from where they lurk
And her eyes lightnings
and her shoulders wings