A Quoi Bon Dire

Seventeen years ago you said
Something that sounded like Good-bye;
And everybody thinks that 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.

by Charlotte Mary Mew

Comments (1)

This text is not from the original publication in The Cornhill Magazine for September 1866, but has been taken from Goss and Wise's posthumous Bonchurch edition of the poet. This contains two false readings and does not include Swinburne's epigraph to the poem.