Meeting And Passing

by Robert Frost

　　

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As I went down the hill along the wallThere was a gate I had leaned at for the viewAnd had just turned from when I first saw youAs you came up the hill. We met. But allWe did that day was mingle great and smallFootprints in summer dust as if we drewThe figure of our being less that twoBut more than one as yet. Your parasolPointed the decimal off with one deep thrust.And all the time we talked you seemed to seeSomething down there to smile at in the dust.(Oh, it was without prejudice to me!)Afterward I went past what you had passedBefore we met and you what I had passed.

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