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.