I wish I could remember that first day,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me,
If bright or dim the season, it might be
Summer or winter for aught I can say;
So unrecorded did it slip away,
So blind was I to see and to forsee,
So dull to mark the budding of my tree
That would not blossom yet for many a May.
If only I could recollect it, such
A day of Days! I let it come and go
As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow;
It seemed to mean so little, meant so much;
if only now I could recall that touch,
First touch of hand in hand - Did one but know!
Christina Rosetti ( 1830 - 1894 )
No comments:
Post a Comment