There was a winter that we learned to ski.
There was a summer month in Bas Moulins.
We’d watch the yachts come back from sea
And play croquet upon a sloping lawn.
You lost your garter on a New Year’s Eve.
I lost my fortunes in a war, and won
Them back a thousand-fold. Twenty years we’ve
Rarely been apart. You are my sun
Each summer day, my moon in winter’s night.
And if I had to do it all again—
That leaky lodge in the Great North Wood,
Spring in Venice with its floating light,
All evenings out, all afternoons spent in,
All mutual hours—I don’t believe I would.