Do you think, dear, as you say
Such a light good-bye to-day,
That this parting time may be
Mayhaps less to you, than me?

What a wonder of surprise
Looks out from your sunny eyes.
'Just a nice acquaintance.' So
We have called it, dear, I know.

Now you end it with a word,
While my inmost soul is stirred.
No--you cannot understand.
But, dear, as I touch your hand,

Listening to your light good-bye,
All a man's roused passions cry
Like a tiger, stirred, at bay.
Oh! you draw your hand away.

'I've no right to speak so?' Pray
Was it your right day by day
By your sweet coquettish arts
To invade my heart of hearts?

It is death to let you go.
You will hate me, dear, I know;
But I swear, ere you go hence,
I will have some recompense.

For those fires you lit in vain,
Cheeks and lips shall bear the stain
Of my kisses till you die.
Go now! this is my good-bye.

Yesterdays. By Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
London: Gay & Hancock, 1916.

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