"I wish I could remember that first day,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me,
If dim or bright the season, it might be
Summer or winter for aught I can say;
So unrecorded did it slip away,
So blind was I to see and to foresee,
So dull to mark the budding of my tree
That would not blossom yet for many a May.
If only I could recollect it, such
A day of days! I let it come and go
As traceless as a thaw of bygome snow;
It seemed to mean so little, meant so much;
If only I could now recall that touch,
First touch of hand in hand-did one but know!
- "The First Day" by Christina Rossetti
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