Forty Springs Back, I Recall, We Met At This Phase Of The Maytime: We Might Have Clung Close Through All, But We Parted When Died That Daytime. We Parted With Smallest Regret; Perhaps Should Have Cared But Slightly, Just Then, If We Never Had Met: Strange, Strange That We Lived So Lightly! Had We Mused A Little Space At That Critical Date In The Maytime, One Life Had Been Ours, One Place, Perhaps, Till Our Long Cold Daytime. - This Is A Bitter Thing For Thee, O Man: What Ails It? The Tide Of Chance May Bring Its Offer; But Nought Avails It!