I had this thought a while ago,"My darling cannot understandWhat I have done, or what would doIn this blind bitter land."And I grew weary of the sunUntil my thoughts cleared up again,Remembering that the best I have doneWas done to make it plain;That every year I have cried, "At lengthMy darling understands it all,Because I have come into my strength,And words obey my call;"That had she done so who can sayWhat would have shaken from the sieve?I might have thrown poor words awayAnd been content to live.