C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
Alice Meynell (18471922)
An Unmarked Festival
T
Both our true lives hold it fast,—
The first day we ever met.
What a great day came and passed!—
Unknown then, but known at last.
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.
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.
In whose hours we were to meet;
And forgotten passed. Who knows,
Was earth cold or sunny, Sweet,
At the coming of your feet?
Of such days the year fulfills.
Now, how dearly would we treasure
Something from its fields, its rills
And its memorable hills;—
Or one blossom from its bowers,
No one gathered at the time.
Oh, to keep that day of ours
By one relic of its flowers!