Sonnet

Somewhere she walks whom I am yet unknowing,
Somewhere her clear eyes gaze upon the sun,
In the long nights she sees the young moon growing,
With silence on the windy peak she is one
Perhaps her dainty skirts give silken warning
As she walks to the motor at the door;
Perhaps she bakes for harvest in the morning,
And hears the distant thresher's lulling roar.

Yet I shall surely find her. Oh, I wonder
On that far distant day will it be, by God's grace,
Some fair free day of Summer, night of thunder,
When we two stand together in one place;
And all my blood leaps and at last I know
'Tis she whom I have dreamed of long ago.

C.Q.P.