The Consolation by W.B. Yeats

I had this thought awhile ago, / "My darling cannot understand / What I have done, or what would do / In this blind bitter land."

And I grew weary of the sun / Until my thoughts cleared up again, / Remembering that the best I have done / Was done to make it plain;

That every year I have cried, "At length / My darling understands it all, / Because I have come into my strength, / And words obey my call."

That had she done so who can say / What would have shaken from the sieve? / I might have thrown poor words away / And been content to live.