When Fate trod madly on my garden bed
And took her from me in the early May,
Just as she tucked the living seeds away
With those deft fingers, kneeling near the shed,
'Twas not enough that I should see her dead
And my house shattered; not enough—but they
Who hate my sort found villain things to say
And mantled me with slander where I bled.

But my defense, who saw and judged the whole,
Because she loved my passionate sad soul
And deeper purport of my larger aim,
Spoke from those Places that the world denies—
Those Incommensurables with sea and skies—
“They cannot harm you: I am still the same.”