​e. e. cummings
It may not always be so; and i say
it may not always be so; and I say
that if your lips,which I have loved, should touch
another’s, and your dear strong fingers clutch
his heart, as mine in time not far away;
if on another’s face your sweet hair lay
in such silence as I know, or such
great writhing words as, uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;

if this should be, I say if this should be—
you of my heart, send me a little word;
that I may go unto him, and take his hands,
saying, Accept all happiness from me.
then shall I turn my face, and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands.