TEN years it is, I well remember,
Since you and I the first time met,
You just arrived at woman's beauty,
I but a youth, in years, as yet.
Ten years, so fraught with stirring changes,
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For me just threading manhood's ways,
The budding season of the passions,
The training-ground of later days.
And now your picture comes before me,
The same sweet face of long ago -
Yet not the same, for on your forehead
The locks once black are flaked with snow.
Your eyes have still the self-same sweetness,
Your laugh, I think, as clear and gay,
As when we strolled through ferny forests,
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Make up Mid-Year Examinations.
