Seventeen years ago you said
Something that sounded like Good-bye:
And everybody thinks 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, and I shall have tossed your hair
