A year ago we walked the woods,
A year ago to-day;
The lanes were white with blackthorn bloom,
The hedges sweet with may.
We trod the happy woodland ways,
Where sunset lights between
The slender hazel-stems streamed clear,
And turned to gold the green.
Thrushes sang through the cool green arch,
Where clouds of windflowers grew:
That beauty all was lost to me,
For lack of love to you.
And you, too, missed the peace which might
Have been, yet might not be,
From too much doubt and fear of fate,
And too much love of me.
This year, O love! no thing is changed:
As bright a sunset glows;
Again we walk the wild wet woods,
Again the bluebell blows.
But still our drifted spirits fail
Spring's happiness to touch;
For now you do not care for me,
And I love you too much!
