THE wonder never went out of her eyes When she saw the sweep of our wide blue skies,
The things we farmers forget in the pain
Of sowing and planting and reaping again.
Things taken for granted loose the touch
Of newness and dazzle we love so much.
While she, soft-eyed and with shining face,
Found pleasure in all things about the place.
She gathered the flowers in wind and rain
That we called common and tho’t real plain.
From the sweep of our lawn to the poppy bed
Flaunting their colors about her head.
Till we ourselves looked with gla............