Words

I had this thought a while 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.