The time you won your town the race We slipped away behind the grille, And gave the dust our fond embrace, Stood twixt the ferns and whispered still.

The grassy knoll or shady tree, The pot of gold beneath the glade, We loitered long and walked in reverie, As life, our time, felt gently fade.

But time, like rain, cannot be held, Its flow is swift yet surely stows, The heart that feels is confirmed and felled, But the memory remains as flowers close.

• AE Housman