An Unmarked Festival

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.