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Text
Author
Charlotte Mew
Year
1916
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Á 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, I shall have tossed your hair.