The Hour
by Sara Teasdale

Was it foreknown, was it foredoomed
Before I drew my first small breath?
Will it be with me to the end,
Will it go down with me to death?
Or was it chance,
would it have been
Another if it was not you?
Could any other voice or hands
have done for me what yours can do?
Now without sorrow and without elation
I say the day I found you was foreknown,
Let the years blow like sand around that hour,
Changeless and fixed as Memnon carved in stone.