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 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!