Poem by Charlotte Mary Mew

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. 

1. May 1915
2. The Narrow Door
3. Monsieur Qui Passe
4. The Road to Kerity
5. On the Road to the Sea

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