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