V

Surely a brightness moves with me, For José gazes long and sighs, Above the pages dim to see For ghosts of youth that brush his eyes.

And gazing long, old Marta said: “Some new device has made thee fair, Yet have I often seen these red Pomegranate flowers against thy hair.”

I would not have them understand The hidden thoughts that give me grace, Nor guess the lights that dreams have fanned, And read their shining in my face.

But all my heart the Virgin knows. Before her eyes, so wise they were, I laid my secret like a rose: “Mother, I love!” I cried to her.