noon
And always when the world seemed most beautiful I thought of Ideala , and how she had loved its beauty -- mountain and plain , flood and field , forest and flower , the snow and the sunshine , and all the alternations of light and shade ; the wonders of form , and the depth and harmony of colour ; the blue sky by day , with its glories of sunrise and sunset ; the dark sky by night , with its moonlight and starlight -- the sky always ! that cloudland to which , when we are wearied by the more monotonous earth , we had only to lift our eyes and there the scene is changing for ever -- the sky -- and the sea : In all its vague immensity ! Would she ever see it again in the old way ? When she left us one might have said of her mental state : O dark , dark , dark , amid the blaze of noon -- Irrecoverably dark , total eclipse Without all hope of day ! And where was she now ? and was she learning to see again ? I own I sometimes had the presumption to think that if she had stayed with us I might have helped her .