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 a 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.

by e.e. cummings