Over those hundred foothills rolling like the sea.

“Where mountains are, door after door

Unlocks within me, opens wide

And leaves no difference in my heart,” she said,

“From anything outside.”

Not only Celia, speaking, taught me these

The tenets of her beauty; but her life was such

That I believed as by a palpable touch

That heals and tends.

Not better nor more learned nor more wise

In many ways than others of my friends,

Celia was happier.

Their excellencies and their destinies

Became, contributing, a part of her,

Anointed her awhile among all men

An eminent citizen,

A generous arbiter.

Not less bereaved than others of my friends,

Celia was lovelier.

And now, though something of her dies,

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