The First Day
by Christina G. Rossetti
I wish I could remember the first day,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me;
If bright or dim the season it might be;
Summer or winter for aught I can say.
So, unrecorded did it slip away,
So blind was I to see and to forsee,
So dull to mark the budding of my tree
That would not blossom, yet, for many a May.
If only I could recollect it! Such
A day of days! I let it come and go
As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow.
It seemed to mean so little, meant so much!
If only now I could recall that touch,
First touch of hand in hand! - Did one but know!
I met my husband when I was in the first grade. Awwww. I know. He was not yet in the first grade when he and his twin brother came into my classroom and showcased their reading skills while their mother talked to Sr. Noelle, our teacher - in French, no less. One of those boys, doesn't really matter which, had the audacity to read over my shoulder from my very own book of Ned and Lad stories. I disliked them from that moment on. For a while, anyway.
I wish I could remember the first day,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me;
If bright or dim the season it might be;
Summer or winter for aught I can say.
So, unrecorded did it slip away,
So blind was I to see and to forsee,
So dull to mark the budding of my tree
That would not blossom, yet, for many a May.
If only I could recollect it! Such
A day of days! I let it come and go
As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow.
It seemed to mean so little, meant so much!
If only now I could recall that touch,
First touch of hand in hand! - Did one but know!
New York Times photo
Comments
I have a very clear picture in my head of the look on your face when one of the boys invaded your space. A very clear picture.
I did perfect that look of disdain very early on. I'm gifted. What can I say?