One time I heard a tender story told
About a mother who was going blind,
And ere the light went out forever, signed
Unto her children―while the sunset’s gold
In burning ribbons down the West unrolled―
To gather close about, that she might trace
The lines upon each well-belovéd face,
That after―so I heard the story told―
Sun, moon, and stars, and all dear things might fade,
And still their faces clearly be outlined
Against the golden background of that day.
Then came long night―but she was not afraid,
And ever answered―“Nay, I am not blind;
My children’s faces star my lonely way.”
“Going Blind” as it appears in Higginson’s When the Birds Go North Again (1898).