A Highland Regiment/To —

You have destroyed my early loves.
  The grasses wet with dew.
And hills upon whose gentle breast
  My careless boyhood grew.
I have no happiness at all
  Except to be with you.

I have forgotten all the words
  And laughter of my friends,
The little inns that are like homes.
  The road that dips and bends ;
I hear them like a far-off song
  That fails at last and ends.

It's little use for us to grieve
  For things that cannot be ;
You can't give back the happiness
  You took away from me.
Give me yourself, for night and day
  It's only you I see.

Oxford, 1913