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.