An Unmarked Festival by Alice Meynell — Read

There's a feast undated, yet

Both our true lives hold it fast, --

Even the day when first we 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 fulfils.

Now, how dearly would we treasure / Something from its fields, its rills, / And its memorable hills.