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.