A citizen whom I have seen

Most heartily, most patiently

Making God’s mind,

A citizen who, dead,

Yet shines across her white-remembered ways

As the nearness of a light across the snow....

My Celia, mystical, serene,

Laughing and kind.

And still I hear among New Hampshire trees

Her happy speech:

“Democracy is beauty’s inmost reach.”

And still her voice announces plain

The mystic gain

Of friends from adversaries and of peace from pain:

Beauty’s control

Of every soul

Surrendering in victory.

.... Well I recall how she explained to me

With sunlight on her head

When last we looked, as many times before,

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