Forty springs back, I recall,
       &nbsp We met at this phase of the Maytime:
We might have clung close through all,
       &nbsp But we parted when died that daytime.

We parted with smallest regret;
       &nbsp Perhaps should have cared but slightly,
Just then, if we never had met:
       &nbsp Strange, strange that we lived so lightly!

Had we mused a little space
       &nbsp At that critical date in the Maytime,
One life had been ours, one place,
       &nbsp Perhaps, till our long cold daytime.

- This is a bitter thing
       &nbsp For thee, O man: what ails it?
The tide of chance may bring
       &nbsp Its offer; but nought avails it!