In other springs, before I knew your love,
Skies were as blue, as fragrant new cut grass;
And furred hepaticas have come to pass
With equal wonder, leaf-hid, in a grove.
The dawn has crept as silently to know
If bird songs would outlive her quaint surprise.
And yet, with this new magic in my eyes,
I can but marvel if it has been so.
But this still question; since at last I learn
Colour afresh, music of wind and rain,
Curve of a hill, call of a sky-ceiled lane,
My ancient blindness never can return.
May I not live to see, to touch, to hear
What love has taught me, and not know you near.