san

The First Day

I wish I could remember the 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 foresee,

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!