Ah! I remember well (and how can I but evermore remember well) when first our flame began, when scarce we knew what was the flame we felt..when as we sat and sighed..and looked upon each other, and conceived not what we ailed—yet something we did ail; And yet were well, and yet we were not well. And what was our disease we could not tell.
Then would we talk, then sigh, then look; and thus in that first garden of our simpleness..we spent our youthful vigors. But when years began to reap the fruit of knowledge, ah, how then would she with graver looks, with sweet, stern brow...check my presumption and my forwardness; Yet still would give me flowers, still would me show
What she would have me, yet not have me know.
There's a story that I can't ramp but can understand unconditionally.