FORTY springs back, I recall, We met at this phase of the Maytime: We might have clung close through all, But we parted when died that daytime. We parted with smallest regret; Perhaps should have cared but slightly, Just then, if we never had met: Strange, strange that we lived so lightly! Had we mused a little space At that critical date in the Maytime, One life had been ours, one place, Perhaps, till our long cold claytime. -- This is a bitter thing For thee, O man: what ails it? The tide of chance may bring Its offer; but nought avails it! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DEATH OF GRANT by AMBROSE BIERCE FEARS IN SOLITUDE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE SATIRES OF CIRCUMSTANCE: 2. IN CHURCH by THOMAS HARDY THE SHEPHERDESS by ALICE MEYNELL DIRGE FOR TWO VETERANS by WALT WHITMAN THE ANGELS OF BUENA VISTA by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION: BOOK 2 by MARK AKENSIDE A NEW BIRTH by EDMUND JOHN ARMSTRONG FRAGMENTS INTENDED FOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: LOVE IS WISER THAN AMBITION by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |