If we had met when leaves were green,
And fate to us less hard had proved,
And naught had been of what has been,
We might have loved as none have loved.
If we had met as girl and boy,
The world of pleasure at our feet,
Our joy had been a perfect joy;
We might have met, but did not meet.
Nor less in youth's full passionate day,
A woman you and I a man,
We might have loved and found a way
No laws could check, no vows could ban.
Too late! Too sad! A year ago,
Even then perhaps, in spite of fate
It might have been,--but ah! not now,
I dare not love you, 'tis too late.
Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
