Such dear eyes , Una ! They are dark blue , and when you smile they are like wet violets in sunshine . But when you are pensive they are more lovely still -- the spirit and enchantment of the sea at twilight passes into them then . Your hair has the gloss and brownness of ripe nuts , and your face is always pale . Your lips have a trick of falling apart in a half-smile when you listen . They told me before I knew you that you were pretty . Pretty ! The word is cheap and tawdry . You are beautiful , with the beauty of a pearl or a star or a white flower . * * * * * Do you remember our first meeting ? It was one evening last spring . You were in your garden . The snow had not all gone , but your hands were full of pale , early flowers . You wore a white shawl over your shoulders and head . Your face was turned upward a little , listening to a robin 's call in the leafless trees above you . I thought God had never made anything so lovely and love-deserving . I loved you from that moment , Una . * * * * * This is your birthday . The world has been glad of you for twenty years . It is fitting that there have been bird songs and sunshine and blossom today , a great light and fragrance over land and sea .
This morning I went far afield XXXXX a long , lonely valley lying to the west , girt round about with dim old pines , where feet of men seldom tread , and there I searched until I found some rare flowers meet to offer you .
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