And so my moods, thus moving on, at last
Found special pleasure in a friendship form’d
Upon a day of tramping through the Alps.
Her name was Grace, and gracious was her mien;
And graces everywhere attended her
Through jars and joys of journeys afterward.
So splendid never as my Edith; never
So striking, so alluring, or so shunn’d;
Her brilliance would not dim a rival’s eyes,
Nor beauty shade another’s face with frowns.
One saw in her a modest, model maid,
A woman loved by women; and with men
A presence, mellow-lighting like the moon;
Yet could she shed no light when came my storms,
As now they came full often. Then it seem’d
Her very mildness made her moods too dull
To penetrate the clouds that cover’d mine.