I had not happened just there and just then To smile at a flower beneath the skies, Should I never have lov'd the first of men? Had he seen me first in a festal hour, Or riding, or driving, or by the sea, And not with a smile for the passion-flower, Would he never, never have cared for me? Who planted the root, and its climbing plann'd? Who water'd below or cherish'd above? Is it the work of a gardener's hand That causes my Harry and me to love? [pg 7] Had that gardener never been born or hir'd, Or done this one insignificant thing; Had the passion-flower died;—my heart is tir'd With the troublesome sudden thoughts that spring; And mine eyes are filling with foolish tears, And the pang that I feel is sharp and keen, As I see the empty unhappy years, And I think of all that might not have been.