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Poem by Charlotte Mew


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My heart is lame with running after yours so fast
Such a long way,
Shall we walk slowly home, looking at all the things we passed
Perhaps to-day?

Home down the quiet evening roads under the quiet skies,
Not saying much,
You for a moment giving me your eyes
When you could bear my touch.

But not to-morrow. This has taken all my breath;
Then, though you look the same,
There may be something lovelier in Love's face in death
As your heart sees it, running back the way we came;
My heart is lame. 



Charlotte Mew


Charlotte Mew's other poems:
  1. Monsieur Qui Passe
  2. The Cenotaph
  3. In Nunhead Cemetary
  4. Ken
  5. Moorland Night


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