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 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!