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.

~Charlotte Mew