A Quoi Bon Dire


   Seventeen years ago you said
Something that sounded like Good-bye:
   And everybody thinks you are dead
      But I.

   So I as I grow stiff and cold
To this and that say Good-bye too;
   And everybody sees that I am old
      But you.

   And one fine morning in a sunny lane
Some boy and girl will meet and kiss and swear
   That nobody can love their way again
      While over there
You will have smiled, and I shall have tossed your hair

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Copyright by Charlotte Mew

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