Could we dig up this long-buried treasure,
Were it worth the pleasure,
We never could learn love's song,
We are parted too
Could the passionate past that is
Call back its dead,
Could we live it all over again,
Were it worth the pain!
I remember we used to
By an ivied seat,
And you warbled each pretty
With the air of a bird;
And your voice had a quaver in it,
Just like a linnet,
And shook, as the blackbird's
With its last big note;
And your eyes, they were green and
Like an April day,
But lit into
When I stooped and kissed;
And your mouth, it would never
For a long, long while,
Then it rippled all over with
Five minutes after.
You were always afraid of a shower,
Just like a flower:
I remember you started and
When the rain began.
I remember I never could catch you,
For no one could match you,
You had wonderful, luminous, fleet,
Little wings to your feet.
I remember your hair - did I tie it?
For it always ran riot -Like a tangled sunbeam of gold:
These things are old.
I remember so well the room,
And the lilac
That beat at the dripping
In the warm June rain;
And the colour of your gown,
It was amber-brown,
And two yellow satin
From the shoulders rose.
And the handkerchief of French
Which you held to your face-Had a small tear left a stain?
Or was it the rain?
On your hand as it waved
There were veins of blue;
In your voice as it said
Was a petulant cry,"You have only wasted your life."(Ah, that was the knife!)When I rushed through the garden
It was all too late.
Could we live it over again,
Were it worth the pain,
Could the passionate past that is
Call back its dead!
Well, if my heart must break,
Dear love, for your sake,
It will break in music,
I know,
Poets' hearts break so.
But strange that I was not
That the brain can
In a tiny ivory
God's heaven and hell.
