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Poem by Charlotte Mew
Remember me and smile, as smiling too, I have remembered things that went their way-- The dolls with which I grew too wise to play-- Or over-wise--kissed, as children do, And so dismissed them; yes, even as yoy Have done with this poor piece of painted clay-- Not wantonly, but wisely, shall we say? As one who, haply, tunes his heart anew. Only I wish her eyes may not be blue, The eyes of a new angel. Ah! she may Miss something that I found,--perhaps the clue To those long silences of yours, which grew Into one word. And should she not be gay, Poor lady! Well, she too must have her day.
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