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 I remember the way we parted, The day and the way we met; You hoped we were both broken-hearted, And knew we should both forget.

And May with her world in flower Seemed still to murmur and smile As you murmured and smiled for an hour; I saw you turn at the stile.

A hand like a white wood-blossom You lifted, and waved, and passed, With head hung down to the bosom, And pale, as it seemed, at last.

And the best and the worst of this is That neither is most to blame If you've forgotten my kisses And I've forgotten your name.