Could we dig up this long－buried treasure，
　　Were it worth the pleasure，
　　We never could learn love's song，
　　We are parted too long．
　　Could the passionate past that is fled
　　Call back its dead，
　　Could we live it all over again，
　　Were it worth the pain！
　　I remember we used to meet
　　By an ivied seat，
　　And you warbled each pretty word
　　With the air of a bird；
　　And your voice had a quaver in it，
　　Just like a linnet，
　　And shook， as the blackbird's throat
　　With its last big note；
　　And your eyes， they were green and grey
　　Like an April day，
　　But lit into amethyst
　　When I stooped and kissed；
　　And your mouth， it would never smile
　　For a long， long while，
　　Then it rippled all over with laughter
　　Five minutes after．
　　You were always afraid of a shower，
　　Just like a flower：
　　I remember you started and ran
　　When the rain began．
　　I remember I never could catch you，
　　For no one could match you，
　　You had wonderful， luminous， fleet，
　　Little wings to your feet．
　　I remember your hair － did I tie it?
　　For it always ran riot
　　Like a tangled sunbeam of gold：
　　These things are old．
　　I remember so well the room，
　　And the lilac bloom
　　That beat at the dripping pane
　　In the warm June rain；
　　And the colour of your gown，
　　It was amber－brown，
　　And two yellow satin bows
　　From your shoulders rose．
　　And the handkerchief of French lace
　　Which you held to your face
　　Had a small tear left a stain?
　　Or was it the rain?
　　On your hand as it waved adieu
　　There were veins of blue；
　　In your voice as it said good－bye
　　Was a petulant cry，
　　'You have only wasted your life．'
　　（Ah， that was the knife！）
　　When I rushed through the garden gate
　　It was all too late．
　　Could we live it over again，
　　Were it worth the pain，
　　Could the passionate past that is fled
　　Call back its dead！
　　Well， if my heart must break，
　　Dear love， for your sake，
　　It will break in music， I know，
　　Poets' hearts break so．
　　But strange that I was not told
　　That the brain can hold
　　In a tiny ivory cell
　　God's heaven and hell．