There's a feast undated, yet 
Both our true lives hold it fast,-- 
Even the day when we first met. 
What a great day came and passed, 
--Unknown then, but known at last.

And we met: You knew not me, 
Mistress of your joys and fears; 
Held my hand that held the key 
Of the treasure of your years, 
Of the fountain of your tears.

For you knew not it was I, 
And I knew not it was you. 
We have learnt, as days went by. 
But a flower struck root and grew 
Underground, and no one knew.

Day of days! Unmarked it rose, 
In whose hours we were to meet; 
And forgotten passed. Who knows, 
Was earth cold or sunny, Sweet, 
At the coming of your feet?

One mere day, we thought; the measure 
Of such days the year fulfills. 
Now, how dearly would we treasure 
Something from its fields, its rills, 
And its memorable hills.