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I had this thought awhile ago, "My darling cannot understand What I have done, or what would do In this blind bitter land."

And I grew weary of the sun Until my thoughts cleared up again, Remembering that the best I have done Was done to make it plain;

That every year I have cried, "At length My darling understands it all, Because I have come into my strength, And words obey my call."

That had she done so who can say What would have shaken from the sieve? I might have thrown poor words away And been content to live.