The First Day
I wish I could remember that first day,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me,
If bright or dim the season, it might be
Summer or Winter for aught I can say;
So unrecorded did it slip away,
So blind was I to see and to foresee,
So dull to mark the budding of my tree.
Such a day of days! I let it come and go
Such a day of days! As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow;
It seemed to mean so little, meant so much;
If only now I could recall that touch, of hand in hand,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me.
I wish I could remember that first day,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me,
If bright or dim the season, it might be
Summer or Winter for aught I can say;
So unrecorded did it slip away,
So blind was I to see and to foresee,
So dull to mark the budding of my tree.
Such a day of days! I let it come and go
Such a day of days! As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow;
It seemed to mean so little, meant so much;
If only now I could recall that touch, of hand in hand,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me.
It seemed to mean so little, meant so much;
If only now I could recall that touch, of hand in hand,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me.
First hour, first moment of your meeting me,
If bright or dim the season, it might be
Summer or Winter for aught I can say;
So unrecorded did it slip away,
So blind was I to see and to foresee,
So dull to mark the budding of my tree.
Such a day of days! I let it come and go
Such a day of days! As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow;
It seemed to mean so little, meant so much;
If only now I could recall that touch, of hand in hand,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me.
I wish I could remember that first day,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me,
If bright or dim the season, it might be
Summer or Winter for aught I can say;
So unrecorded did it slip away,
So blind was I to see and to foresee,
So dull to mark the budding of my tree.
Such a day of days! I let it come and go
Such a day of days! As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow;
It seemed to mean so little, meant so much;
If only now I could recall that touch, of hand in hand,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me.
It seemed to mean so little, meant so much;
If only now I could recall that touch, of hand in hand,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me.
Credits
Writer(s): Christina G Rossetti, Ronnie Reshef, Gilad Hesseg
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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