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AN UNMARKED FESTIVAL.
Benedetto sia'l giorno e'l mese e l'anno.
Petrarca.
There's a feast, undated, yet
Both our true lives hold it fast,—
The first day we ever met.
What a great day came and passed!
—Unknown then, but known at last.
And we met; you knew not me,
Mistress of your joys and fears;
Held my hand that held the key
Of the treasure of your years,
Of the fountain of your tears.
For you knew not it was I,
And I knew not it was you.
We have learnt, as days went by.
But a flower struck root and grew
Underground, and no one knew.
