I may seem poor, but how rich I am who have been dowered with a love that I know to be eternal as my eternal soul.

I go, and my husband shall receive me, not with a lover's kiss and tenderness, but with words few and sad, with greetings that, almost before their echoes die, must fade into farewells.

I wrap no veil about my head, he will set no ring upon my hand, perchance we shall plight no troth.

So be it; our hour of harvest is not yet.
"Yesterday was very sharp and bleak, with scuds of sleet and snow driven by the wind, but as I drove here with my father I saw a man and a woman in the midst of an empty, lifeless field, planting some winter seed.
Who, looking at them, who that did not know, could foretell the fruits of their miserable, unhopeful labour?
Yet the summer will come and the sweet smell of the flowering beans, and the song of the nesting birds, and the plentiful reward of the year crowned with fatness.

It is a symbol of this marriage of mine.