The Blind Girl

In the darkness, who would answer for the color of a rose,
Or the vestments of the May moth and the pilgrimage it goes.

In the darkness who would answer, in the darkness who would care,
If the odor of the roses and the winged things were there.

In the darkness who would cavil o’er the question of a line.
Since the darkness holds all loveliness, beyond the mere design.

Oh night, thy soothing prophecies companion all our ways,
Until releasing hands let fall the catalogue of days.

In the darkness, who would answer for the color of a rose,
Or the vestments of the May moth and the pilgrimage it goes.

In the darkness who would answer, in the darkness who would care,
If the odor of the roses and the better things were there.