  I thought that I might see you, sweet, That after all this weary year By some good fortune we might meet, And kiss each other here. I told my heart to bide awhile, And not to faint with vain regret; I even forced my lips to smile, My conscience to forget. I killed depression as it rose, And built new castles on the sand; This was the place my fancy chose That I should hold your hand. And I have held your hand, my dear, A second, daring not to press Your finger-tips, in mortal fear To meet your eyes; and yet I bless That little moment none the less. |
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