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.
