Love's Birth-Hour

What was the day when, sweet, I loved thee first?
The day when my heart trembled at thy tone
Almost as much as would my lips have done
Could they have slaked at thine their new-born thirst?
When did this passion into full flower burst.
As a bud into a rose, beneath the sun?
When felt I first my body and soul as one?
Life with thee bless'd, without thee, empty and curs'd?

Who notes Love's birth-hour, then? In sooth not I.
Though Love like all things hath its birth and growth, —
And love at first sight is a short-lived thing;
Nor shall I know the hour when Love must die,
For that will be my death-hour too, and both
Will pass where there is no remembering.